Raptor Imperialis
by CalciumHuge
Summary: The Enterprise arrives at a wormhole just in time to see a lifeboat be ejected into their universe. The occupant is a mystery, but he brings knowledge of a future of only war. Cultures clash as they get to know their new guest and try to comprehend humanities future as he tries to return to the battle that rages above Cadia.
1. Chapter 1

Captains Log Supplemental:

We are in orbit above Tranich II, an abandoned mining colony. While performing routine investigative scans of the planet's surface to determine surface level radiation, long-range scanning reported an emergence of a wormhole 4 lightyears away.

Upon the arrival, we were in time to witness the wormhole ferry something onto our side of space before vanishing. The object appears to be some form of a lifeboat, mimicking our single-man escape pod. The differences, however, are stark. Lieutenant Worf is attempting to scan the object to further ascertain its origin and whether or not it ferries a new, yet undiscovered race.

Picard sat in the Captains Chair, eyes fixed on the monitor in curiosity. "Mr Worf, what is it that we're looking at?" "Scanning shows a single occupant. Humanoid. It appears to be comatose, life signs are faint. The craft has sustained a severe hull breach and the internal oxygen supply is thinning rapidly, the internal atmospheric pressure is almost gone, Sir." Worf paused before continuing, "Sir, I recommend transporting the occupant and leaving the craft to drift. I am detecting powerful explosives onboard." "Explosives?" Picard asked, "sabotage?"

"No, Sir, their purpose appears to be offensive."

Picard found himself thinking of the Japanese Kamikaze pilots of the Second World War, such disregard for one's life was something that made him reel. Such madness had been left behind so long ago. The idea that someone would willingly do so again was beyond what he could comprehend.

"It appears that the purpose of that craft is to impact the ship and burrow into it, releasing its occupant. Sir. I believe this is meant as a boarding delivery system."

Picard didn't know what to do with that one, resigning himself to giving out orders while Riker and Worf discussed intently the merits and demerits of a boarding torpedo, especially one that could only deliver once person at a time. Riker said as much while Worf countered with it was the quality of the boarder rather than the quantity deposited. He wanted to mention the number of times the Enterprise was put in danger by single opponents but as Chief Security Officer, he refrained from pointing out his own inadequacies and hoped that Commander Riker did not share his realisation.

Picard on the other hand, was too involved in his own thoughts to listen as he gave orders. "Dr Crusher, you will have a patient incoming. Potentially life-threatening injuries. Prepare yourself. Mr Worf, Mr Data, accompany me to Medical. Number 1, you have the helm, lock that craft in a tractor beam for later study. Transporter, beam up the occupant of that…torpedo to Medical." A chorus of "Aye Captain." and "Yes, Sir." called out over both the comm system and bridge as he made way for the lift to take him and his companions to meet their new guest. Initial scans had identified the occupant as "unknown", though it was humanoid and for a brief moment was classified as human. Seeming to read his mind, Worf spoke as the doors to the elevator closed. "I do not like this, Captain. I propose we leave it to drift. Whatever comes of that pod can be no good!"

Worf was soon proven right when they entered the medical bay to find Dr Crusher preforming tricorder scans on the comatose patient, though "warrior" or "giant" would have made for a more apt description. Though the newcomer was had been beamed on top of a medical bed, he now lay on the floor with remnants of the buckled bed underneath him. As Picard was about to inquire what exactly had happened, Crusher preempted his questions with answers.

No, the stranger hadn't become violent, instead, he arrived in a coma-like state. His weight was so great that the bed had simply collapsed, tearing itself from the wall. Though her estimation was just that, an estimation, she put his weight at almost 1,000 kilos. His armour made up at least half of that. Picard stood over the kneeling Dr Crusher and the horizontal guest regarding it with equal parts curiosity and dread.

Humanoid, and apparently male, a deep scar accented his face, moving from the corner of his right eye down to his jaw. In another life, he could even be called handsome. He displayed symptoms of gigantism and his features gave the impression of a person who rarely smiled. Within several minutes Crusher had tentatively confirmed his species. Human, but with such heavy genetic and biological modification he was a class of his own.

"I can't explain is how he's alive. Not just from his apparently prolonged exposure to space, but also the work that went into his creation. Even the most sturdy surgical candidate would've been killed at least thrice over. I'm counting 19 additional organs, including an extra heart and an extra lung. His entire skeleton has been enriched with what appears to be ceramic. Whatever it is, it's stronger and more durable than any similar material that the federation has produced."

Picard couldn't believe what he was hearing. They had since retired to the conference with Dr Crusher, Data, Worf and Riker. The party had sat in silence while Dr Crusher ran through her tricorder and medical analysis of the various modifications found in their new guest. She had not dared attempt to remove his armour lest it triggered some kind of failsafe explosion. Picard had originally thought it ridiculous but had eventually agreed just in case she was right. None had said anything in the half an hour that she had explained, guessed and admitted her confusion at some of the organs.

"I've seen warrior cultures like the Klingon and the Romulans but I've never seen anything like this, Captain. I can only guess what kind of culture he's from. Excessive would be an understatement with this level of enhancement. His entire ribcage is a solid slab of a ceramic derivative. He has two hearts and three lungs.", her voice became increasingly exacerbated as she continued to list organs and initial findings, Worf found he couldn't blame her. Even he was surprised and confused at such a perfect warrior and what had required its creation. "Scans readings show he can breathe underwater and his biology forcibly induced some kind of healing coma while he secreted a heavy mucus to prevent against vacuum exposure as his pod vented its atmosphere into space."

Riker leaned forward in his chair, his fingers knitting together as he directed his question towards the Doctor. "Do you think there might be more like him, Doctor?"

At this, Data answered the question. "I have looked over the Doctor's data at her request. It would appear that, given the advanced nature of these modifications, this being is among an elite group. Such a group would most likely be drawn from the most sturdy and survivable sect of a population most favoured for strength and resilience. Further analysis reveals that some of these implants were most likely placed inside during human pre-pubertal stages." Data paused, as if in thought. His head jerking minutely, his eyes darting left and right while accessing data, his neural networks analysing swathes of data. "Postulation. This unknown patient would have likely been selected from a sample group of children, perhaps no older than 8 with a maximum allowable age of potentially 12 years of age. The young age would most likely have been sufficient to evaluate their suitability for implantation."

A wall of silence presented the Science Officer. Picard could not help but think of the Eugenics Wars while Worf and Riker were too busy imagining the sheer ruthlessness of collecting such a young quarry for implantation. Picard was the first to break the silence, bringing himself out from the images of children undergoing such invasive surgery. He himself had been 'under the knife' so to speak, and that had caused him more than enough anxiety to not want it repeated. The image of such a thing amplified beyond imagination was maddening. What civilisation would subject it's most vulnerable to such a procedure? The galaxy was at peace, who were these people fighting? "Data, report on both equipment and weapons carried by our guest." As Data began to speak, Worf interrupted, "Concisely, Data. We don't know when he may wake up."

"Yes, Commander. The Patient was taken aboard wearing a suit of armour. It appears to be war suit of some kind. We have not yet ascertained how to remove it from him or if this is possible. It links directly to the patients' neural system and should allow for unimpeded movement, acting in perfect unison with the patients' own movement. He was also taken aboard with 3 weapons and 1 defensive shield."

Data gestured to the 4 object arrayed on the conference table. One was a sword. Another a pistol of some description, though both were so large Picard doubted any of the Enterprise crew could wield them effectively. The third was what appeared to be another antiquated form of rifle, larger than the pistol. The fourth, almost laughably, was a shield in the shape of a cross. Not dissimilar to the symbol favoured by the ancient Teutonic Knights of Earth. Curious.

All 4 objects were menacing. Each seemed to exude a need to do violence, it was unsettling. Picard and the rest of the crew had never come across such a feeling from a weapon. They had always been tools for use when the need arose. Even Worf felt unsettled by the obvious brutality of each piece.

Equally tempered by a need for bloodshed, all were ornately detailed and individual crew members were drawn to separate pieces. Worf was drawn to the sword. Almost as long as he was tall, it was wrought in exquisite detail. The guard was moulded in the image of a soaring two-headed bird of prey, detailed in gold, its feathers were beautiful as they caught the light. Two ruby encrusted eyes regarded him as he looked at the blade itself. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its surface was entirely black, and inscribed along the entire flat of the blade, in perfect latin were the words "Imperator Rex."

"His suit of armour is spartan in decoration, Sir. Similar to the sword, its chest piece features a skull bordered by wings, embossed in silver. Further, numerous scrolls adorn his pauldrons, affixed with a wax-like substance. Though I cannot fully decipher them, as they are a mixture of what appears to be latin and another language, I have cleaned a rough translation. It is…troubling. Beyond this, there is no other decoration except white accented pauldrons and a badge on his knee, an eagle's head surrounded by bolts of lightning."

Data made a move to go on but was interrupted by Dianna Troii as she barged into the conference room. Her voice trembled in pain as she spoke, "Captain, he's waking up." her hands grasped at the smooth walls as she tried to steady herself, she fell to her knees, her hands rose to meet her head as if they would block out a mind so tortured. She felt so close to this one, his emotions boiling below the surface. "Captain," she gasped, "he'll doom us all."


	2. Chapter 2

"He'll doom us all." Troi had barely whispered before falling into unconsciousness. Unbeknownst to Picard and the rest of the crew that surrounded her, she had not escaped their new guest in medical.

Her lapse from consciousness had merely lowered her conscious defences and now she was at the mercy of the strangers' unhinged mind as it fought the unexpected intrusion.

He was trapped between the stages of sleep and awakedness. Behind his closed eyelids, he could not see the crewmembers that surrounded him.

Trapped within a suit of power armour that he had not removed in centuries, he could not feel the soft carpeting underneath him. He didn't feel the cold touch of the medical bed he had crushed, nor the metallic touch of the 10 gold service studs punched into his skull.

All he could feel was the intrusion of the witch. He heard a roar. His own voice inside his head, and he heard the vow. Burn the witch.

She heard it too, and he felt her recoil within his mind. Gathering his hatred and faith in his immortal Emperor he unleashed a new barrage against this unknown attacker. Abhor the witch. Kill the witch. The presence withdrew further, but could not escape his wrath. In his mind's eye, he saw her. A human. Dark hair and brown eyes, mortals would have perhaps described her as beautiful. It didn't matter. Kill the witch.

Though she attempted to flee from him, he caught her, whatever meld with his mind she had created, she could no better escape than he could. Her pleas of mercy passed through him, his soul unaffected in his duty. She was the enemy. To show mercy to this woman would later invite betrayal, the witch knew this and yet begged all the same as he loosed his righteousness upon her. His rage poured forth at her attempted assault on his senses earlier.

His fury exploded at the thought of her continued existence. His soul cried out as it had done on Terra, almost 800 years ago. He lamented and detested her very existence as he smote her psychic form trapped in his mind, the image of Keeler conjured itself before him as if willing him to stop. This time, there was no hesitation. His fist punched through her fragile stomach. Lifting her screaming form into the air, his other hand took hold of her skull at the base of her neck. With one, smooth, slow motion he ripped the witch in two as he should have done the first time.

As she lay dying within his mind's eye, just as a fog disappears during a sunrise, he became increasingly aware of his surroundings as her presence left him.

His consciousness slowly began to regain control of his mortal body, and the latent warp taint writhed invisibly around his armour. Crusher, now kneeling beside him saw none of this. The only thing that she would notice in these precious few seconds was a pronounced drop in ambient temperature around the warrior's armoured frame.

Crusher looked up, her mouth opened as she began to inform her assistant that normal brain activity was returning and to inform the Captain. It appeared that their new guest was coming out of the coma and in a few hours the Captain should be prepared to greet him.

She had barely started to speak her assistant's name when she was stopped short by a sudden snarl of servo motors as the artificial muscle fibres belonging to the armour roared to life. Before Crusher could turn to look, she was thrown from her feet by the giant as he regained consciousness.

Vision blurry and her head spinning, she looked up at her new patient. He was so large, yet possessed a regal grace in his movements that rivalled perhaps the greatest of dancers. Such supple grace coming from something so huge should not be possible. Further still, she found it more and more difficult to look at him.

His eyes were fiercely blue, matching the colour of the most perfect oceans. Handsome. He would have been so handsome in another life. Fighting to stop herself from collapsing, she remained on all fours, breathing in great gulps in an attempt to refill her lungs.

Unwilling to meet his piercing glare she looked at his feet. "This is the Starship Enterprise, you're safe. We mean you no harm." She had no idea if he understood her, but he didn't move, regarding her and his new surroundings.

The situation was different in the Conference Room, Crusher had had no time to call out on the communicator before the stranger had awakened and the conference room party was still surrounding Troi's limp body. Riker rose to his feet, "Conference room to Medical, send an emergency team at once. Counselor Troi has collapsed!" still prone and immobile, Troi's nose had begun to bleed.

"Medical to conference room," a quiet replied the communicator, "he's awake." From her hiding place in a storage cabinet, Ensign Ramires fought to control her pounding chest. It was so loud, she was sure whoever it was in that suit of armour could hear it. How could he not? It was all she could focus on. Boom. Boom. Boom. So loud. Boom. Boo-

The cabinet door was ripped off its hinges, the flimsy metal crackling as it hit the floor. Piercing blue eyes bore into hers. More powerful than a phaser, Ramires couldn't take her eyes from them. They were so beautiful, and yet so flawed. Her mother had said the eyes were a gateway into the soul but Ramirez had always dismissed it as 'old people talk'. If it were true, then all people had boring souls. All eyes looked the same once you got past the colour. Here she saw a soul in fragments. Shattered and rebuilt over the course of who knew how long, whatever was left was a hollow shell.

The warrior frowned. The woman before him and the woman who had knelt over him meant him no harm. His mind still awash, still blank from the warp exposure earlier. Wherever he appeared to be, he did not appear to be over Cadia. His boarding torpedo most likely hit an explosion of erratic warp energy that had snaked its way through the void-battle several times. He could not afford to remain here any longer, the defence of Cadia was crucial and his forces were massively outnumbered. "State our current location, in the name of the Emperor." He would requisition this vessel and rejoin the battle.

"Back away!" A voice interrupted any reply from Ensign Ramires as three men thundered into the apparent medicae chambers he stood in. Two appeared to be human, though one was obviously more machine than organic, the silver tint giving it away. The other was an alien. Most likely a slave given freedom to serve as evidenced by its silver sash of office.

All of this, the warrior saw and understood in a microsecond. The machine man came first. It's attempt to overpower him was short lived. An armoured gauntlet gripped its neck and hurled it into the far wall in a combined snarl of servo motors and vocal cords, the sound of which was like a thousand mountains crumbling to dust.

A single phaser shot was all Worf managed before the warrior appeared before him. It was impossible that something so large could be so fast. Riker fared worse, he had not managed to raise his phaser before the giant had moved in a blur and disarmed them both.

One hand had crushed the phaser in Worf's, and the hand itself, while a backhand had hurled Riker into the wall. Worfs howls of pain were drowned out by the armoured giants own roars "IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR, WHO IS IN COMMAND OF THIS VESSEL?" It had been a tense few hours after the initial conflict had subsided.

Captain Picard had arrived shortly after Data, Riker and Worf, however, due to the speed at which they had been dispatched it might as well have been an hour. After Picard had made his entrance, things had become immeasurably worse unimaginably quickly. The giant had become enraged almost immediately.

He was insulted that the Enterprise was not at "Cadia" to aid him and his "Chapter" against "The Despoiler". Nobody had known was he was talking about, and none were prepared to admit it. Most of all, Captain Picard who was still trying to come to grips with what had happened in the 5 seconds he was outside medical before entering behind the others.

Picard had first attempted to tell their guest that none of those names? Places? Were familiar to him or the crew. This had only enraged him further and a gauntleted fist tore another medical bed from the wall as it slammed onto the bed-frame in an effort to vent this titanic, monumental surge of agitation. How could the Enterprise not know? All battlegroups had been called to repel the Chaos incursion. More confusion followed and yet another medical bed fell victim to a fit of violence. Delicate medical instruments vibrated dangerously, some shattering as the giant's voice became louder in its ridicule of the Captain, the giant rued that if the situation was not so dire, he would have killed him already. Ships were needed, and if this one had to burn out every astropath and navigator on board, it would find Cadia and force its way through the warp to get there, no matter the cost. He didn't care how.

Astropaths? Navigators? Picard asked what the current year was. The giant turned to look at Picard, the 10 golden service studs embedded in his skull glinted in the light. "It is 781.M31," after a brief silence the giant restated, "it is the year 31,781."

Captain Picard sat, his small desk in his ready room separated him from their new guest, just as the years set them apart. Sapphire blue eyes, heavily contrasted by the black armour and accented by golden studs met his. These were the eyes of Captain Sigismund, High Marshal of the Black Templars Chapter.

There was much to discuss and Picard didn't know where to start or how.


	3. Chapter 3

The two sat, regarding each other. The uneasy silence seemed to envelop the room like a thick fog. Neither spoke. Captain Picard didn't know where to begin. Over 10,000 years separated the two of them. Sitting in front of him was the future of humanity, and he had he couldn't figure out how or why it would have to come to this.

Sigismund, whose name and rank was not yet known to the Captain, didn't speak because he was still trying to come to grips with the fact he was not where or when he should be.

The Imperium was under attack, and he was nowhere near and nowhere when he should be to affect the outcome of the battle. The Black Templars were the only ones truly prepared for the Black Crusade launched by the traitor Abaddon. The battle over the planet Cadia was the fiercest Sigismund had faced since the Siege of Terra, so many years ago.

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**Above Cadia - 4 hours ago, and tens of thousands of years from now**

Thousands of ships of all classes raged in the dark, unforgiving void of space. Broadsides raked across those out of position, or too crippled to evade the storm of fire that surrounded them. The wreckage of broken vessels was further shattered as the Eternal Crusader, hallowed Flagship of his Chapter, gifted to him by Dorn himself ploughed its way through the Chaos forces. There was only one prey that had mattered to its crew. Only one enemy that its master hunted. Abaddon. After hundreds of years, their master's prey was finally within reach.

Void combat was a dance. Ships would weave, dive and climb as each attempted to bring its strength to bear while hiding its weakness. Some Captains would have even called it an art form of grace and beauty. The battle between the Vengeful Spirit and Eternal Crusader was anything but.

The two mighty warships had circled each other trading broadside after broadside, with each rotation, the ships drew closer as if they circled an invisible drain. The distances grew smaller, the violence increased. Both loosed tremendous salvos, their armoured hulls screaming in protestation under the strain of the punishment endured by the constant bombardment from all sides, the void shields having long since failed, swathes of shattered and broken adamantium plating burned off in the void like fledgeling, infant stars.

The bridge of the Eternal Crusader was a flurry of activity. Above the screech of metal and shudder of multiple explosions below deck, Sigismund's voice carried, bearing orders. Around him, the faithful crew voiced their compliance, their duty clear even if the outcome was uncertain. For the tenth time, the senior tech priest on board voiced his protestation. The ship was a hallowed relic, it could not be allowed to continue taking such punishment. For the tenth time, Sigismund ignored him. The command lectern in front of him deeply dented by his armoured fingers as he fought to remain upright as another explosion tore through the ship somewhere deep below the bridge. A monotone voice, barely audible over the maelstrom announced that the appropriate range for boarding torpedoes had been reached.

"Begin Chapter-wide broadcast," Sigismund paused while he awaited confirmation, "Crusaders of Dorn! Servants of the Emperor! Today you fulfil your Oath! Today you will clad yourselves in faith. Arm yourselves with hatred, and sustain yourselves on the blood of the cursed and cries of the corrupt as you destroy them beneath your armoured boots. No Pity! No Remorse! No Fear! In His name, let none survive!"

Sigismund could hear over the vox the battle cries of thousands upon thousands of Templars. Beneath the deck, across the ship, even above the protest of the brutalised armoured hull as it was stripped away by enemy fire, he could hear the faint beating of sword against shield, the clanking of gauntlets as battle brothers remade oaths of battle.

Once more, Sigismund spoke, "All Templars, attack."

With that, the battle truly began.

Within minutes hundreds of boarding torpedoes had been launched. Sigismund left his second in command on the bridge with his orders, to deploy all possible boarding troops and then retreat. The Eternal Crusader could not take much more punishment and the symbolic home of the Chapter could not be allowed to fall in battle. Strapped into his pod, Sigismund joined his brothers in the attack.

The burning trails of hundreds of boarding torpedoes streaked between both ships, following in their fiery path came to the brighter flames of boarding barges carrying entire squads. There could only be one outcome. Black Templars against the forces of Chaos. Richeous against corrupt. Each side knew that there would be no mercy and acted as if they were already dead. Pods flew headlong into each other, for there was no real way to manoeuvre in a battle so thick with participants. Those occupants that were not killed in impact fought in the weightlessness of space itself, using their precious oxygen stores like thrusters to manoeuvre themselves into killing distance. Pods that had missed their impact point and "landed" on the ship's surface were evacuated, their cargo taking aim any exposed system of the enemy ship that presented itself, or resigning themselves to take aim at enemy pods streaking towards theirs while their oxygen supply still allowed them to be useful. Others still fought to carve their way into the enemy ship, magnetised to the deck, they surged towards armour-glass viewports to carve their way inside with power weapons, chain swords or their gauntleted fists.

Sigismund flew from the Eternal Crusader, the engines of his pod burned red hot, matching his rage at the traitorous forces' continued existence. His teeth ground together, his right arm pushing the throttle further forward. Information runes eclipsed his view of the approaching Chaos flagship, he was running the engines too hot. They were close to burning out. At first, he dismissed them with a flick of an eye, retinal scanners processing his demand for silence. The throttle was pushed forward. More Warnings. His impatience grew. Once again, the throttle inched forward. He was so close to his quarry now. Abaddon would be in command of the Vengeful Spirit. All Sigismund had to do was fight onto the bridge and destroy him. None would stand in his way. At long last, after hundreds of years, he was within arm-.

++EMERGENCY ENGINE SHUTDOWN COMMENCING++

No. Not now. Though nobody would hear him, Sigismund roared and beat his fists into the control panel. Again. Again. Again. The crunch of metal eclipsed only by his yells and snarl of servos, finally, he found purchase and peeled the metal console apart and tore out the wires until the engines would restart on command. Again, the throttle inched forward.

Sigismund glanced at the chronometer. 30 seconds to impact. He increased the throttle. 20 seconds to impact. Sigismund readied his Storm Shield, his armoured fingers wrapping around the pommel of his sword in anticipation of the coming fight.

The impact never came. A rogue warp pocket erupted in front of his torpedo. The veil of reality thins, growing closer to the warp as blood was spilt and as the battle progressed and blood flowed, it had grown close indeed, entire planets burned under the indifferent eyes of Imperial and Chaos forces for all that mattered was victory. Cost did not matter. When Astartes fought Astartes, the warp always became turbulent as if it rebelled against something so wrong taking place. Sigismund did not consider any of this, for he was under attack. He yelled because his target had once again slipped away. He howled as warp energy played over his unprotected pod and sunk into his flesh. He growled in fury as he fought against the dark energies that swept over his soul, attempting to wrench it from his mortal frame. Within his mind he saw thousands of spirits surrounding him, each laying claim to his mortal shell, each drawing closer as their hunger grew.

Clenching his jaw so hard he feared his teeth would snap, his muscle so taught his bones began to groan under the strain, he fought. Within his mind, he tore demons apart with his hands. He tore weapons from their owner's mid-swing, hurling them into an adjacent target. His own sword swung in deadly arks, his body twisting, moving through the hoard like a stream over rocks. All the while he killed. He killed to protect his soul. He killed for his honour. He killed because it was all he had ever known. Years seemed to pass, trapped within his own mind as he flew unprotected by Gellar Field through the warp bubble.

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**USS Enterprise**

"My name is Captain Jean-Luc Picard," the Captain began, it was as good as any way to start. "I am in command of this vessel. Who are you?" Picard had so many questions to ask this new stranger but was incredibly hesitant to pose them. Though this new strangers behaviour could be attributed to finding himself over 20,000 years displaced and apparently being absent from a war, he was still wary of this man's evidently titanic rage held in just barely under the surface.

"I am Sigismund," a seemingly annoyed Sigismund answered, "I am High Marshal of the Black Templars Chapter and the Emperors Champion." He had answered Picard's question but had just given birth to several more. Chapter? Templars? Emperor?

"I'm sure you can understand, Sigismund, I have so many questions to ask. Perhaps too many to list. You are the first, and only, real glimpse we have into the future of not only mankind but of everything. Quite frankly, I don't have any idea of where to begi-" A raised gauntlet cut him off.

"Are those I have injured recovered?" Sigismund did not care, he wanted this human to stop his questions, already he had spent too long here and had to return to his time. "What of the slave? Is it still of use?"

Picard baulked, "Slave?"

"The alien," Sigismund stated. "The Xeno in your employ. Is he not a slave? His sash does not designate him privileges above decks?" Sigismund was trying to be as diplomatic as he could. Nothing would be more right than to blast the alien out of the air-lock or hurl it into the furnaces, but Sigismund needed to get back to Cadia, and he needed this man and his ship.

"Everybody is recovering from the...confusion earlier. Though Councilor Troi is still very shaken from what happened. Our resident Doctor believes that she'll make a full recovery, however. Mr Worf, our security chief is not a slave, Mr Sigismund. Slavery has been abolished for centuries. There are no slaves on this ship. He wears the sash in honour of his Klingon Culture."

Though Picard could not believe it, he was beginning to raise his voice to the giant sitting opposite him. "High Marshal, I will emphasise this to you now, I will not condone any further violent outbursts while you remain onboard this ship. Neither can we afford to replace broken furniture. I highly suggest -"

"You will not suggest me anything, Captain. I do not answer to you. Do not forget that. I answer to nobody but the Emperor and my Primarch." His tone was sharpened steel, "Captain Picard, I must return to my time. Humanity itself is under threat. Every second spent here is another second my forces fight alone. I will not abandon them, nor will I fail my duty to the Imperium," as if to somehow emphasise his point he continued, "I have sworn an oath. I cannot fail. I won't. Not again." Servos within his powered armour snarled in response to his remembering his most shameful moment before his Father.

"Our scanners have begun analysing the wormhole that brought you. With proper study, we may be able to anticipate the opening of another, or perhaps recreate the conditions in the hope that you will be able to return. In the meantime, I would like to offer you welcome to the Enterprise. If you consent, I would like to discuss with you your time. Where you come from, and what the galaxy is like in the 30th Millennium."

Sigismund nodded, "While I remain in your time, I would study your history, Captain."

It was Picards turn to nod, "Lieutenant Barclay will show you to your quarters and show you how to use the computer terminal and replicator," whatever made him less likely to tear the ship or its occupants apart was most certainly a good idea. His evident dislike for non-humans was startling at first, but the more Picard thought about it, he understood the potential reason behind it. Humanity at one point had become hostile with an alien race.

Perhaps whatever conflict fought had lasted several years and grievances not yet healed. Counselor Troi may want to consider speaking to Sigismund about it, examine the problem and attempt to solve this irrational phobia. He would propose the idea to his armoured guest later. His thoughts were interrupted by a shriek of metal as Sigismund squeezed through a doorway not designed for someone so tall, so wide...or who was also wearing armour that made him taller and wider, still.

A lot of things made Barclay nervous. Transporters made him nervous. Spiders made him nervous. Sigismund didn't make him nervous, he terrified him. Walking next to this enormous monster of a man was the scariest thing he'd ever done in his Star Fleet career. The rhythmic thumping of armoured boots served as conversation enough for Barclay, and so he kept his mouth closed and his incessant need to make conversation out of nervousness to himself. However, luck was not on his side. "What is the crew compliment aboard this ship?"

"About 1,000," Barkley managed to say without stammering, quite impressed with himself that he didn't stumble at the sudden question.

"What is the size of this warship?"

"It's one of the largest ships in the fleet, almost 650 meters long," he beamed up at Sigismund, expecting him to be impressed at the specification "We're also armed with 12 phaser arrays and three torpedo launchers."

Sigismund, for the first time in over 500 years, smiled. Then he laughed. Throwing his head back, he roared, his servos snarling in reply as pauldrons heaved up and down. Three lungs drew a giant breath, the laughter pausing as they refilled. A passing security team stopped, inquiring what the problem was, as Barclay dismissed them, Sigismund laughed again. This time at the poorly armed and incredibly small team that stood before him. The lowest under-hive ganger would have literally torn them apart. How blissful these people were! Oh, how Sigismund laughed.

"Is there something amusing?" Commanded Riker rounded the corner of an adjacent corridor, curiosity and confusion evident on his face. He could no better understand this stranger now than he had when he met him. One meeting the complete opposite of the other, though he did not know which was more frightening.

"Your ship. It is so small," Sigismund fought to control his laughter, so foreign after all of these years, "its crew compliment so tiny and your security.." he said, pointing towards the officers arrayed in yellow before howling again "they could no more protect themselves in a hive riot than protect this ship. Oh, Commander, I have not been so amused in centuries!"

His mood suddenly soured, his expression serious. Riker felt his words grating in his ears like metal carving through stone, "If you value your lives, you will not allow this idleness its continued existence. For if you do not, this wound will fester and from its putrid infection heresy will emerge. This frigate would not survive the opening salvos in void warfare, nor would its crew die peacefully in the event of a Gellar field collapse," Sigismund seemed to grow before Rikers eyes. He had been walking towards him as he spoke. The entire corridor was filled with his monstrous frame as he got closer. Every one of his instincts screamed warnings to run, but he was rooted in place, unable to look away from those sapphire blue eyes. Eyes that had witnessed untold horrors that Riker could never understand and would never know.

"It is evident that you cannot know of what I speak, Chaos has yet to emerge in this timeline, but if humanity is to survive, you must prepare for the coming battle."

"What battle? What can we do to stop it?"

"You cannot. I have been fighting for over 1,000 years. None have matched me on or off the battlefield, yet this is the one fight the Imperium cannot win. It will simply continue. William Riker of the Enterprise, know this. In the far future, there will be only war."


	4. Chapter 4

(Publishing this in the mobile app and the preview is showing that there aren't any spaces between paragraphs. I'll fix this when I get home if that's the case - figured I'd apologise ahead of time just in case!)

 **Review responses:**

Mr. Exterminatus - thanks! Hope you enjoy it

Solarblaster - I've got plans for the duel, so fear not. I don't want to spoil anything, but it's in _hand_. The only reason that Sigismund loses the duel is because of his age and whatever cool stuff Abaddon got while in the warp.

"Age didn't slow him down, it just brought him to our level" to quote whatever the dude's name from Black Legion is.

"You cannot. I have been fighting for over 1,000 years. None have matched me on or off the battlefield, yet this is the one fight the Imperium cannot win. It will simply continue. William Riker of the Enterprise, know this. In the far future, there will be only war." Even as Riker repeated it to Captain Picard, he could not shake the certainty of the words he heard. What disturbed him the most, however, was not that this future would come to pass, though that did disturb him greatly, it was the _way_ in which Sigismund had said it.

There just wasn't any emotion. He might as well have been reading a script for all he seemed to care.

It simply _was_ , and that was that. Had their positions been reversed, Riker being the one to return to the past, he would be wrought with an energy so fierce he could not rest until he had prevented such a tragedy. The idea of war like the one briefly fought with the Klingons lasting ostensively forever was simply anathema to him. An eternal stalemate.

"Those are the words as he told them to me, Captain. Permission to speculate Captain?"

"Granted, Commander. What do you make of this?" Picard asked though he did not expect much of an answer. None of the Enterprise crew that he had talked to fully understood what Sigismund spoke of nor what he represented. He was soon confirmed correct when Will started to talk. Nonsense left his mouth, everything from a trick by Q to some kind of hallucinogenic released by spies. Will Riker was clutching at straws and he knew it.

Otherwise, what was he supposed to do? Accept that in 30,000 years everything that they stood for would be reduced to less than ashes? Perhaps it was a symptom of their present time. A still human trait to rebel against the mountain of corpses, the cacophony of those dying in the name of a Human Empire. Nobody on the Enterprise wanted to believe it would happen. That it was coming, and there was nothing they could do about it.

* * *

"I hope that these quarters will be to your liking during your stay on the Enterprise," Barclay kicked himself. He sounded like a concierge. He glanced sideways at Sigismund.

Sigismund's eyes had grown wide. He attempted to calm the giant, "We can potentially find something more comfortable if you would like?"

"No. I require nothing more than a marble slab and a storage unit for my personal armoury. I have no need for such wanton extravagance," he swept his armoured gauntlet across the multiple rooms that made up the ambassadorial suite, "remove everything beyond what is necessary and post instructions that I am not to be disturbed. I must meditate on what has transpired here today."

Barclay nodded. He had been expecting something strange from the visitor, after all, there had been nothing but strange things happening onboard the ship ever since he arrived. This soldier was more monk than killing machine that his exterior presented to the rest of the world. Interesting. "I will see what we can do. First, I'll show you to the computer and how the replicator works."

Over the course of half an hour, Barclay had been cornered by the giant in black, experiencing the most bizarre interrogation. Not that he had been subject to much interrogation except for that time in the holodeck that he had pretended to be a spy behind enemy lines in Rhomulan Space, but nobody knew about that.

It appeared that replicators did not exist in the far future. He wondered why. Yes, the replicator could make almost anything. Extra ammunition for his 'bolter'? Definitely, they would need to scan his round in order to create a template first. Same for the power cells for his sword.

"Tech-priest, I need something made, immediately."

"Tech pr-, yes? What would you like?"

"Are you aware of a device called a pain glove?"

* * *

888-Medical Bay-888

Councillor, how are you feeling?" Picard stood at the foot of one of the few remaining hospital beds that Sigismund had not destroyed.

The discussions that he had had with Riker hadn't yielded anything of use. They all still knew so little of their new guest, so Picard made the journey to Sick Bay in the hopes that Troi could shed some light on their time traveller.

"Much better, Captain, thank you for stopping by. I take it you came to talk about Sigismund?" She paused as the Captain nodded. "I can't tell you much, Captain."

Picard seemed to sigh inwardly, but before he could say anything, Troi continued.

"He suffers captain. I have never felt such strong emotion coming from a single person, let alone an entire theatre of people!" She was sitting up now, propped up on her elbows against the bed. "I cannot begin to _imagine_ what this man has been through. Dr Crusher mentioned to me that he is a little over 1,000 years old?"

Picard nodded.

"For over 1,000 years I truly believe he has been suffering beyond what you and I have could even begin to understand. To even describe what I felt, Captain..." Troi drew a shaky breath as the memory came flooding back to her.

When his craft tore its way into their reality, she had felt a deep pain in her chest as she sensed him drawing closer. His tortured soul bled his feelings in such strong, thick clouds, like a massive funeral pyre. It was all she could do to stop herself from getting sucked in. The haze could still chok her, even several decks apart.

Troi had had 'out of body experiences' before, but as the miasma of Sigismund's soul drew an ever tighter noose around her consciousness, unable to be blocked out, she began to fear for her safety.

To a librarian, such feelings of hatred and righteous fury would have been like a small breeze. A minor annoyance, easily forgotten and quickly ignored. Troi was neither conditioned nor prepared for such an issue and as Sigismund was beamed aboard the ship, her mind merged with his, drawn as a nail is to a magnet.

He knew she was there. The way in which he fought against her intrusion almost killed her. If it wasn't for the security team taking his attention for the few seconds it took him to incapacitate them, she might not be there talking to the Captian right now.

"What I felt cannot truly be described, Captain. I can only liken it to one thing. What was it like when you merged with Spocks father?"

"It was...an intense sensation, Counselor."

"What I experienced with Sigismund was but a fraction of what I know he's feeling. Captain, what I did feel before he...noticed my presence, was..." She trailed off, trying to figure out what to say.

"In one moment, I felt stress beyond what I thought possible. He felt as if he alone was responsible for holding the heavens in place and must bear the weight alone. In the next such melancholy," her eyes began to mist as she looked at Picard, "his soul is so tortured, Captain. Even as his bones begin to crumble and others are there to take the weight, he stands there bearing the weight alone."

"Penance," Picard finally breathed.

* * *

Sigismund sat cross-legged on the floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, his skin was only covered by a roughspun tunic that he had fashioned from the replication device shown to him by Barclay.

A tiny man, unfit for the honour of serving aboard a warship. Timid. Fearful. Weak. It took all of Sigismund's patience to not berate him as he would an officer serving aboard the Crusader. The result would be Barclay sent for transition into a servitor. The crusade would not be allowed to slow, if a duty could not be performed in some fashion, it would be in another.

He had told as much to Barclay, his voice raised, but not loud enough to shatter the poor man's eardrums. The man's eyes had grown wide, his frail mortal form sliding into a corner as he apologised for his inadequacy. The man had stopped crying long enough to ask Sigismund if he himself felt fear. At the insult, Sigismund had picked the man up by wrapping his hands around the man's torso as easily as a child might a toy.

Fear had been bred out of his very biology. Fear was impossible to feel. Just as Sigismund was biologically immortal, all mortal weaknesses had been removed with his ascendency.

Why? The little man had asked. At that, his patience had finally evaporated. He dropped the tiny, squealing Barclay onto the luxuriously carpeted floor before yelling in frustration. He heard the chime of a communicator but ignored it, let them hear. Let them know where their path leads them. Then perhaps they would be ready for the coming storm.

"I have seen things, so horrible, so impossible in their existence that your very mind would shatter at their image! Their very names have set entire armies on each other in a tidal wave of bloodlust! Humanity fights an entire galaxy alone! Only through our inexhaustible armies do we hold back the onslaught.

For every world lost, another ten are brought into the fold. We and we **alone** ," Sigismund's palms crashed against his breastplate so hard sparks flew. They illuminated his scarred face. "We **alone** hold back the coming of the night, so that He may rule ascendant."

On the deck of the Enterprise, the Captain and crew listened in rapturous curiosity as Sigismund continued, "I have fought on battlefields whose atmospheres would boil you frail body from the inside from a simple breath! I am war perfected. I have fought on tens of thousands of battlefields. Millions have been felled by my blade alone! On my word, planets are destroyed. Entire systems tremble at the name 'Black Templars'. Would that you could see what awaits humanity, then you would see my purpose."

Barclay had scurried out from his room at that. Sigismund could hear his voice no doubt conversing with his superior officer but thought nothing of it as he sat down in front of the two painstiks he had fashioned in the replication device. Thumbing both to the "on" position, their red tips glowed faintly.

Drawing his thoughts inside him, Sigismund grasped each tip in his hands and began to focus, the pain inflicted by the stiks clearing his errant thoughts as he sought clarity in this new world he found himself in.

As Sigismund sought answers through meditation, Captain Picard sought answers through science and reason. He would do anything to show the way through whatever awaited humanity and the galaxy at large in the future. Already they had witnessed a brief visit from a vessel hailing from the 26th century a few years ago. It bore none of the iconography worn by Sigismund, so there was at least a comfort that whatever cataclysmic event causing this "change" had happened in the distant future, so it had not yet happened, which brought him some level of comfort. There was still time.

Picard sat across from Lieutenant Barclay as he outlined designs for a device with which the Holodeck could extract memories from Sigismund, thus allowing Picard and the rest of the crew to experience images of the future from which Sigismund had come. Perhaps through these glimpses, a solution, or the very least a warning could be found.

"Would this not be a dangerous procedure for Sigismund, Lieutenant?" Picard did not want to risk their guest mistaking any undue harm as an act of aggression.

"Sir," Barclay began, almost chuckling to himself despite his nervousness at addressing the Captain, "Sigismund ordered me to help him build a 'pain glove' so that he could meditate properly. I think that he'll be okay."

"I'm sorry lieutenant, please explain. Pain glove?"

"Yes, Sir. In his words, it's supposed to directly stimulate pain receptors throughout the body. Through its use, it, ah...it's both a -" Barclay stuttered as he tried to find the words, "well it's used to help clear the mind and also help realise their faults. Rooting out weakness, I'd imagine if I had to guess," Barclay straightened, forgetting himself. "Sir."

Captain Picard once again felt speechless. He thought that he would have gotten used to it now. It had been a difficult and trying day. The only thing that could make it worse was-

"Picard!" an overtly jovial voice boomed through his ready room. Jean-Luc could almost _hear_ the smile on the words and balled his fists in a flash of anger.

"What do you _want_ , Q? I have no time or patience for your antics right now."

Q in response feigned pouting, "Oh, Picard, you are so terribly rude," flopping onto his couch, frown moving across his face, its lack of sincerity given away by his eyes that almost sparkled with joy at Picard's discomfort. "You're never any fun, you know. It's time you had some fun!"

Clapping his hands, he laughed as Picard became dressed in a suit of power armour. Unaccustomed to the sudden weight and height, while also lacking the necessary implants, Picard toppled backwards in a comically slow arc followed by a crash as the desk snapped under the weight.

"You brought him to out time! Q, return him back at **once**!" Picard felt his choler rising, forced to yell from the horizontal and inside a comically large suit of armour. Picard was not _made_ for humiliation, now would he allow himself to be played with by Q.

"Picard, how little you know me! It was never my intention to bring him back to this time. I was trying to keep him there! Get off the floor," Q flicked his wrist and Picard was once again upright and in uniform, "I know you're trying to access his memories, but that won't do you any good. Your... _guest_ is more broken than you can possibly imagine. Instead, I'll give you everything. Even now, your toy holodeck has everything you'll need to truly experience his world."

Q paused, waiting for Picard to say something, but he cut him off before he could finish opening his mouth. Oh, Picard was so _fun_ sometimes, he thought.

"You have to send him back, Picard. I can't do it for you. Even _I_ in all my greatness," nodding to himself as he held his arms up in mock self-worship, "can't do it for you. This man will be needed before the final battle, Picard. Even we fear what may happen if humanity loses that war. We can't survive in that timeline, there are... _things_ there, Picard. Things we don't want happening. Things we don't want existing. Every time we try to change something, try to make it better..they still exist. No matter which timeline we create, how many variables we change. It's inevitable." Even Picard, who hated Q with a passion, couldn't help but believe him, and that terrified him.

"Haha! Oh, Picard, you do make me smile! Nevertheless, what I said is true, your holodeck will have all the programs you need. Use them wisely, you old dog. Try to avoid the pleasure worlds!" Q winked and disappeared.

Picard didn't move. Q had come into his life. He could only hope temporarily.

* * *

Over 24 hours had passed since Sigismund had clutched the painstiks. For 24 hours he had sat, his body drenched in sweat. His robes clung to his muscled frame. A frame too large to be human, it's muscles too dense to ever allow a feeling that could be mistaken for comfortable.

For 24 hours he had sat, his body wracked with pain as he sought to clear his mind. For 24 hours he had been unsuccessful. The pain was too little, his mind too turbulent. It was his duty to return to his timeline, 'he will need you before the end', that was what Keeler had told him. Yet he was here, tens of thousands of years away from his father.

As his thoughts began to drift away from the centre once more, Sigismund gripped the painstik ends tighter, feeling a sense of calm roll over him as the pain moved through his body in tidal waves. Then, he heard it.

 **SIGISMUND. SON OF DORN, BLACK TEMPLAR. MY CHAMPION. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN YOUR SWORN DUTY TO YOUR CHAPTER AND YOUR EMPEROR? WILL YOU LEAVE MY IMPERIUM TO FEND OFF ITS ENEMIES ALONE?**

The force of the words hit Sigismund harder than a bolter. He tried to speak, tried to open his eyes so that he might see his Emperor again. He was blind behind his eyelids, the psychic pressure kept them welded shut. A golden light consumed his once black vision. Burning brighter than an exploding sun, the brightness eclipsed even the pain still pulsing through his body. He wanted to cry out that he would return. Somehow he would reach his master.

He would not fail again. He had knelt at the gates of Terra itself as he had bowed before his God Emperor. He would defend the Imperium until either he or the Universe itself was destroyed.

The painstiks shattered in his hands.

 **YOU WOULD FAIL YOUR DUTY. YOU WOULD DESTROY YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO RETURN. YOUR ZEALOUSNESS CLOUDS YOUR EVERY ACTION!**

The words came with force now, lifting Sigismund into the air and slamming him against the opposite wall. Something in his chest popped, and he began to choke on the blood trapped behind his sealed mouth, unable even now to open it. The pressure built and the blood began to stream from his nose and eyes.

 **HEED ME NOW. OTHERS MORE LOYAL THAN YOU HAVE COLLABORATED WITH DEMONS, ALIENS AND HERETICS TO RETURN TO MY SERVICE. RETURN TO YOUR RIGHTFUL PLACE AT THE GATES OF THE IMPERIUM.**

Though Sigismund could not see, he saw his sword hurl itself towards him, embedding itself deep within his shoulder, pinning him to the wall.

 **What is your fear?**

I fear nothing, Sigismund wanted to say. I am an instrument of your will. In the fires of battle, I was forged. By your will, I serve. You are my master, my-

The sword plunged deeper into his shoulder, its point now emerging through the wall in the adjacent room.

 **WHAT IS YOUR FEAR?**

My fear is to fail...

 **SEE THAT YOU DO NOT.**

Sigismund opened his eyes. He was still sat on the floor. The stiks were still in his hands, broken into pieces.

 _A vision._ He thought.

 _My Emperor, I will not fail you. I will return, no matter the cost._

* * *

Just as Picard was about to sit at his newly repaired desk, he heard laughter and groaned inwardly. "One last thing, Picard, a little present before I leave you. You see, I couldn't have you dying on me, it wouldn't be as _fun_ without you."

"Q, what have you done?"

"Not a thing, I swear to you! Who do you take me for? Some kind of God Emperor? I don't play the part nearly as well as the man himself, but..." he shrugged his shoulders as he flashed Picard a devilish smile, "sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do for a friend, am I right? Q protects" With that, he flashed a quick wink and disappeared as quickly as he came.

Picard breathed a sigh of relief and sat back on his couch. It had been a long and confusing day, smiling in disbelief as he closed his eyes. Sleep was ready to take him, he could feel it, his body seemed to grow lighter as he breathed in and out.

"Crusher to Captain Picard," his communicator bringing him back into the present, "you're going to want to see this."


	5. Chapter 5

**Review responses:**

thatguy1796: I'm Eventually_Shredded from Reddit - for those that are interested in confirmation, please send me a message on Reddit and I will happily confirm :)

88888888888888888

888888888888

 **The Chapter:**

"You're going to want to see this."

Picard sincerely doubted that he would.

Several moments later, he was proven correct as Sigismund pulled his sword from the wall, easily hefting the massive slab of black metal. From its handle, black links of chain clinked, each inlaid gold inscriptions. Some were dull, others shone brightly. Only one link stood out from the rest, for its letters were brighter still - from what he could see, only one word was inscribed on its black link but he couldn't see what was carved.

"Medicae," Sigismund said as he turned to Crusher, his face still stained red with the now congealed blood that had been pouring from his eyes minutes before, "I require attendance. ." As Crusher performed a scan, her eyes evading the bloodshot gaze of Sigismund, he continued, "I must be combat ready if I am to continue my duty. Do what you must. One of my hearts is compromised."

The vision...the visit from his Emperor, had been hard on his body, he felt one of his hearts starting to slow. He wasn't sure whether it would stop, but it would not surprise him if it did.

"Captain," she said, before addressing Sigismund. "What happened here?" to think that someone was able to overpower and injure Sigismund...her eyebrows raised at the comical thought as she continued her work. He was right, his 'secondary' heart was suffering from a severe arrhythmia, bordering on heart failure. It was fixable, but it would be a painful affair and it wouldn't be as efficient or as useful as it was before.

"I must be combat ready if I am to continue my duty. Do what you must, medicae." Sigismund repeated.

That, evidently, had settled the matter. Sigismund, later, had made clear that the Doctor should clone him and harvest the organs necessary for a full recovery. That would be impossible, she would not allow herself to be complicit in a _murder_ simply to improve his capacity to do battle.

Sigismund, of course, had not seen the problem with this. His clone would not question it, and would gladly lay down his life so that his original could continue his duty, especially in the service of the Eternal Emperor. The argument continued for several moments and another hospital bed suffered his wrath, bringing the total to eight destroyed in three days.

Picard sighed, defeated by his immovable stubbornness and not willing to risk the destruction of any more Starfleet property. "Doctor, is it possible to _grow_ the organs necessary, outside of having to also form a living being?" The Doctor had agreed, yes it was possible. "Then do so, and let us put this matter behind us." Picard turned to Sigismund and addressed him.

"In the meantime, er- High Marshall, there is something I would like to discuss with you. I would like a..." he paused, looking for the words that would make sense of what he was about to ask, but he could not. "At around the same time of your vision, as you say, our databanks were flooded with information. This information will allow our holodeck to simulate what it is truly like in your future. With this information, we will be able to not only better understand your references to "demons" and the like, but also this information may be the key to sending you home if that is truly what you want."

Sigismund said nothing, his burning gaze meeting Picard's, listening intently as the Captain continued, "however the simulations that we now have the ability to run, are meaningless without any context. As a result, I request that you accompany me and several of my officers in choosing, and then guiding us through what we will see." More silence.

"Now," Picard said, gesturing to the right with an open palm inviting the giant of a man to follow, "It's my understanding that you have not experienced holodeck technology before. I think this would be a good opportunity for you and me to discuss your timeline _before_ we actually see it. If you're feeling able, I'll take you to the holodeck." Picard could not help but smile in disbelief as Sigismund stood in one swift motion, his formidable frame hoisting itself from the newly reinforced hospital bed. His face showed no signs of pain despite the fact that not half an hour earlier he had been bleeding from his eyes.

Amazing, thought Picard, though he had grown weary of his own amazement. Each time Sigismund displayed yet another feat that boggled the mind, he emphasised how far humanity would come tumbling down. They had walked in silence to the holodeck, Picard, again not wanting to say anything because he had nowhere to begin while Sigismund was silent because he was lost in his own thoughts.

Before the Emperor had appeared, a single name had echoed through his mind. _Abaddon._

With the name had come images, too vague to be called memories, yet too poignant to be mere hallucinations. Glimpses into his future? He refused to give them another thought, he knew his duty and would not allow weakness to once again. He would simply endure, he was a Black Templar. The High Marshall. There was no obstacle he could not overcome and no adversary he could not best.

These men cannot, however. Their weakness offended him.

A snarl of servos was triggered by his inner flash of anger. Sigismund stopped, and turned to Picard, "you do not understand my existence, nor that of the Imperium as I describe it to you. Why?"

They had reached the holodeck doors. Picard ignored the question momentarily as stepped inside and started the program. "Computer, countryside, green fields." Turning to Sigismund, who was turning around in curiosity, a green world appearing from nowhere.

"What-" he heard Sigismund exclaim.

"This is a simulated world," Picard answered, preempting his question as he turned to face his armoured companion. He backed away a few paces when he noticed Sigismund had drawn his sword, blue energy field engulfing the blade. The smell of burning ozone stung his nostrils as the energised blade crackled in agitation.

"None of this is real," he said, attempting to calm Sigismund who had evidently never experienced holodeck technology. Picard cursed himself for not explaining it before they had entered. He had forgotten completely, so imposing was Sigismund's presence.

"This is all just the room we were in previously. Through the use of energy, we create matter, as well as projected force fields to give the _illusion_ of substance. This will allow us to simulate your world. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Sigismund stated. Perhaps now, these fools would understand the necessity of his existence, and his desire to return to duty. Picard spoke, arms raised slightly to chest height in reassurance, "Sigismund, please, nobody on this ship means you harm and we have made great steps to assure you of our goodwill. Lower your sword." Once the sword was safely magnetised to Sigismunds back, Picard continued. "You're correct. I see no reason for your purpose. I see no reason why your galaxy," Sigismund noticed he had further separated himself from him. 'Your galaxy', how amusing.

"Your galaxy is at war with itself. How long as it been this way? Why must you fight?" Picard was shouting now, "why are children taken so young and made into warriors such as yourself?!" He pointed a finger accusingly at Sigismund, "it's not right! There have been laws for centuries _protecting_ the right to childhood. I look at you, Sigismund, and I see someone robbed of a _lifetime_ of potential happiness. The chance to _live_ ," Picard brought his fists to his stomach to emphasise his point, "to love, to have a family! Your future is the antithesis of what it is to be free."

Sigismund looked at him with eyes that Picard he knew would never shine with understanding. These eyes then looked at the ground. "Captain Picard," his voice the sound of a mountain moments before it crumbles. Deep, the sound of a thousand wounds and a thousand years of suffering giving his words a sorrowful tone that almost had Picard fall to his knees in anguish.

He wanted to cry out to Sigismund promising that he would take the pain away from him, he would-

"One such as you, who has only known decadent comfort, cannot understand the honour bestowed upon me. Through my actions, and my being chosen for admission into the Astartes, hundreds of trillions of citizens are kept safe from the terrors that assail the mighty Imperium.

Picard was dumbfounded, Sigismund felt sorry for _him?_

"Surely the case is the same for your Federation. Men and women are recruited to defend worlds in the event of war, are they not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"These men and women, are they not prideful at the task they have been given? They know that they will potentially join conflict, perishing in the coming battles. Is this true?"

"Perhaps, yes. But what _you_ , Sigismund, are suggesting in your case is that it is natural to take children from their parents and forge them into living weapons. These same children will _only_ know what it means to be at war. You yourself say that you have been fighting for over 1,000 _years_ , Sigismund."

"During wartime, has your Federation ever been faced with a powerful foe? Perhaps multiple foes? Have these encounters been hard fought, forcing you to reach ever increasing extremes?

"There have been wars, yes." Picard and Sigismund were walking through the countryside now, birds chirped in the distance as the two continued their conversation, "but we have always sought to find a peaceful solution."

"Then you have already lost." Picard frowned, not entirely understanding. How could ending the conflict through peaceful means result in a loss? "You think there is some ingenious way to disarm or defeat an enemy without much bloodshed. You think this is the true goal of warfare. That is a fallacy. You know this in your heart.

War is dangerous Picard. Mistakes which come from kindness are the very worst. You shy away from conflict. You are afraid. This makes you weak." Sigismund continued, not letting Picard interrupt him.

"Tell me, Picard, what would your federation do when faced with an enemy that cannot be reasoned with? An enemy whose only goal is to see you dead, to feast on your very soul while entire worlds bathe in oceans of blood?

The Imperium is _strong_ , our means great and our will, indomitable. Our enemies seek to overcome us, matching their effort against our power of resistance. However, they will never succeed. It is impossible, just as it is impossible to alter the direction in which the universe spins.

I was created to unite Mankind's lost colonies, and now I fight to defend the borders of the largest Human Empire the galaxy has ever seen. Over a million worlds bathe in the light of the Emperor, beloved by all.

To cease hostility and come together in peace invites betrayal. Instead, turn their great works into dust and scatter their ashes. Otherwise," Picard thought for a moment he heard Sigismund sigh, "the cost of betrayal will be great.."

" _A million worlds,_ " Jean-Luc breathed, "how is that possible? The logistics alone required in managing such an empire...let alone conquering it...it should not be possible!" Picard could not begin to know what it would have taken to bring so many worlds under control. The number of ships, the sheer imagination to put together this plan. The hubris of it all.

"It seems you are finally beginning to see the scope of the Imperium." Sigismund said, "now allow me to show you what assails us." Sigismund turned from Picard and looked to the blue sky above them and addressed it "Computer, create a settlement and population typical of what is found on Federation colonies. Arm them appropriately with whatever garrison would be present."

The computer obeyed. A new scene was generated, neutral coloured buildings now clustered together on a distant mound, the hustle and bustle of civilisation reaching the ears of both observers. Families walked the clean streets while a cluster of vendors added to the ambience as they called out their wares. As Sigismund and Picard walked towards the settlement, Picard grew too curious to remain silent. "What do you plan on showing me, Sigismund?"

"I will show you the future. Computer," Sigismund had watched Picard, learning the basics of its operation in a heartbeat and he commanded the construct now, "disallow interaction with the simulation, make it so we go unnoticed and unharmed by what follows."

"Command confirmed," the sky rang out. They had become ghosts in a town that did not exist.

"Computer, generate an Ork Warband 5km away from the settlement, no more than twice the size of this settlement's population."

"Now, Picard, let us see how your Federation would cope in my time." Picard did not enjoy being kept in the dark but allowed Sigismund to mould the narrative to this demonstration.

Over the course of the next 43 minutes, Picard watched as the settlement of 20,000 people was slaughtered. Hulking green aliens swarmed over the hilly approach towards them. There were no walls to stem the tide and they poured into the miniature city as water would fill a container. Their comically large guns tore huge holes in the buildings before others set fire to them with flame-throwing weapons, their fiery ichor sticking to every surface.

The garrison was too slow to react and was overrun before many had even formed a cohesive defence. Children were torn from their mother's hands before being skewered on spikes that adorned badly painted pauldrons like a trophy, their high-pitched shrieks of pain drowned out by the eruption of noise that came from ... _everything_.

"Now do you see!?" Sigismund was yelling. He yelled because of the din that threatened to drown out even his voice. He yelled because this man before him was weak, so weak as to allow none to die so that many would die, later.

"You say that my becoming what I am," gauntleted hands gesturing to his almost mutant-like armoured body, "would be considered a crime?" Picard nodded, he could not speak. He was kneeling in the grass. It had already started to die. "I will show you the crime," Sigismund was seething. "Gnnn, I will show you the reason for my existence!" Sigismund's words flew out, malice clung to them like tar with every syllable, "I will show you heresy."

"No," Picard groaned, "no more. No more, Sigismund." He understood now, he understood while rebelling at the very thought of it. This Imperium was utilitarianism brought to its final, insane conclusion. The only model that could work to ensure the survival of his species. He understood now, but he could not accept it. There had to be a way to change this future, some event that he could change and alter the course of history away from this bleak future. Starfleet regulations be damned. He didn't care. He would change these scenes before him. There had to be some way.

"Call your subordinates, you will all witness the turning point in Imperial history. The moment when a peaceful galaxy was doomed, the moment when an Imperial victory would be forever denied. Observe, the moments when the galaxy was damned to a future of eternal _war_."

Picard looked up and hope filled his eyes. A turning point could be avoided if they knew what it was. Some new strategy employed. A deal to be made, perhaps some negotiation could take place.

"Computer, create a new simulation: Battle of Isstvan V."

Sigismund was perhaps the most imposing individual that Picard or any of the Enterprise crew had ever laid eyes on. Now, standing with him, La Forge, Riker, Troi and Worf had their breath stolen at what they saw.

This was Isstvan V, the battle that would begin the war to come. A war that would last, as far as they knew, for at least 1,000 years. _1,000 years..._

The vast battlefield before them was almost featureless except for a great depression that flanked a fortress whose spires seemed to pierce the sky. The depression as churned into ruination under thunderous footfalls of untold thousands of warriors, each as large as Sigismund and hundreds upon hundreds of tanks larger than reason dictated they be. Across the vast battlefield hundreds of thousands of mighty warriors engaged in the most brutal and bloody conflict imaginable, nothing that the Starfleet officers had seen in their cumulative careers came close to matching the ferocity.

Hundreds were dying each second as the clash of sword and bolter added to the orchestra of violence that assaulted their senses. Cries of pain and roars of hatred punctuated as sound enveloped the passive onlookers like a noxious cloud.

In and among the pandemonium of the titanic struggle, the eyes of the Starfleet Officers were drawn to a group of isolated scenes of extraordinary battle performed by beings that were giants even to Sigismund.

Even at this distance, they could see their magnificence. One borne into the soot-laden skies by a black winged jetpack; another with arms forged from silver crushing and ripping to pieces "traitor" forces who came within reach; lastly, a giant wielding a massive hammer stood atop a mountain of bodies, thunderclaps reaching their ears seconds after every armour shattering blow. Victory for one side seemed certain even though the idea of anyone surviving seemed ludicrous.

The eyes of the Enterprise crewmembers were then drawn to another, darker and more sinister set of giants, who they would later learn were Primarchs, the pinnacle of genetic experimentation at the hands of the Emperor, his sons. The traitorous Primarchs slew in the mirror image of their brothers, their own kills littering the field before them. None of the Starfleet officers could hear the other, though they were shouting in their disbelief, their voices drowned out by the maelstrom of grinding ceramite, booming cannons and the endless clattering of bolters.

This cacophony was further envigored by a new addition - drop pods, assault landers and gunships made their appearance behind loyalist lines. Picard and crew could hear a rousing chorus of cheers as news of reinforcements made its way through the lines. The roars of celebration threatened to shake apart the already turbulent ground as it was wracked with explosion after explosion.

The reinforcements busied themselves with fortifying the staging areas and made ready to resupply the retreating loyalist forces. "Sigismund, what do you intend to show us here?" Picard shouted over the din, "The battle is as good as over, these 'traitorous forces' are all but beaten!"

"Wait," was the only reply he received. It was all Sigismund could whisper. He hadn't been at the battle. He was just as engrossed as the Enterprise crew members were.

Even though he knew what was coming, it still didn't prepare him for what he was about to witness. Brother fought brother here in the red sands which now resembled clay. Rivers of genehanced blood coongealed on the coarse ground, and were kneaded by hundreds of thousands of armour-clad boots and treads of tanks.

None of this was lost on the Federation crewmembers gathered around Sigismund, though they were dismayed at the sheer _violence_ of the battle, they saw the heartbreak in the eyes of the loyalist forces. Eyes searching for a reason for their betrayal, a solution for what beset them.

Astartes were fighting Astartes. The unimaginable was happening. Brother fought brother. Oaths of brotherhood between legions made hundreds of years ago now lay trampled, unrecoverable as blood was spilt on an unimaginable scale. Dianna Troi was perhaps the most affected of all, more so than Sigismund for she shared his anguish along with her own.

She perceived his feelings that emanated from his soul at what he witnessed. It materialised in waves, each wave as regular as a heartbeat and powerful enough that she began to flinch as each wave grew more intense as the loyalist forces withdrew to the reinforcement line. Sadness that broke her heart and rage that threatened to overwhelm her sensibilities. She realised what was about to happen. She wanted to scream, but her mouth would not work. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground as she tried to fill her lungs with burning air, corrupted by the miasma of expended ammunition and the metallic stench of charred flesh and vaporised blood.

A loyalist clad in grey armour spoke as they reached the resupply point, "Good hunting down there, all of you. Glory to the Word Bearers. Glory to the Emperor!" The advancing Raven Guard, named by Sigismund, had almost reached the barricades. None of their armour plate suits had escaped the conflict unscathed. Some featured massive cracks across their surface, caused by exploding bolt shells that failed to fully penetrate. Others were missing entire limbs, supported by their brothers who were no less mauled by the bloody conflict. "Turn back!" Troi managed to scream, her voice curdling as she forced the words through her tortured throat, tears leaving black streaks down her ash covered cheeks.

The crew surrounding her turned in an instant, their eyes wild with shock as the reinforcement point exploded, thousands upon thousands of guns opened fire on the already mauled loyalist forces.

Above the pandemonium, hundreds of loyalist voices rose up in defiance "We are betrayed! Attack!" Untold number died in an instant, their ranks scythed under the landslide of bolter shells and energy blasts. The Iron Hands circled their own Primarch back on the original battlefield, the circle growing smaller and smaller as two legions surrounded them and began to squeeze.

The Salamanders fared no better as fresh traitor legions rushed forward to meet the loyalists, now sandwiched between both the anvil and hammer that was now composed of traitor forces.

The noise began to slowly dissapate.

"Does it get better?" Troi whispered to nobody in particular as she sobbed on her knees, unable to comprehend the scenes she had just witnessed.

Sigismund turned to her with contempt in his eyes.

"No."


	6. Chapter 6

It had been eight hours since Picard had retired for the evening and for seven hours he had sat slumped at the foot of his bed trying to forget the scenes he had seen on Holodeck 3. It wasn't often that a Starfleet Officer could say he witnessed the turning point of history, but the fact that Picard had didn't make him feel special.

He felt helpless. He kept trying to calm the tempest of thoughts raging through his bare skull, but his mind was perpetually drawn to what he had witnessed in the Hall of Heroes.

At first, Picard had heard nothing. Then, slight whispers of a breeze within the massive hall tickled his ear as he turned around. As he became more aware of their surroundings, he was confronted by thousands, tens of thousands of banners. Though it was not explained by Sigismund, he instinctively knew their purpose. Each banner gave honour to those who had served under its colour, a small mark left in the midst of an uncaring universe, witnessed only by those residing behind the massive doorway atop the steps ahead.

The calm was shattered as an explosion tore a breach in a distant wall. A thousand banners disappeared in an instant, hundreds more burst into flame, the only surviving memory of those that had borne them was lost forever.

Chaos forces poured through, mighty howls of laughter and roars of triumph echoed throughout and the once rich, historical tapestries were trodden like unwanted trash beneath the thunder of heavy boots.

The Enterprise crew looked on, unbelief plastered across their faces at the callous desecration of this painfully obvious sacred ground. Each banner was in near perfect condition. Those that weren't, bearing battle scars, their fabric torn, were held aloft by golden halberds; banners that had been recovered from the field of battle given distinct from those unmarred by the fiery crucible of combat.

The senseless desecration was something that Picard could not understand. Though these two powers were enemies, even the most mortal of foes would not have shown such callousness on this holy ground. This would not have happened if the Romulans destroyed the Federation, even their race held the belief that some things should be respected, at the very least ignored and left to disappear in time.

At the other end of the hall, at the top of the golden staircase stood the defenders of the Emperor. They were amongst his most powerful protectors. The Custodes. Each warrior more than a match for almost any Astartes. Their creation a longer, more arduous affair, their only purpose was to protect the life of the Emperor.

Their lives were forfeit to guarantee his physical safety. Their loyalty to him left no question or doubt. No other commander had the authority to stand judgment over their mission, and none would bar them from service to him. So it had been decreed over a century ago. Today they would face their true test.

The armies of Chaos halted their frenzied charge at the bottom of the staircase, its gentle slope disguising the climb it represented, the steps seeming to blend into those above and below, each more beautiful than the last with epic deeds and mighty heroes etched into the solid gold. Each step a story, each image a victory memorialised forever and inlaid with silver and platinum, they had thus far remained unblemished and untouched by the filth that had been brought to the very birthplace of humanity itself.

The truth of this was not missed by either side. Even as both opposing forces made final preparations for the battle to come, hesitancy seemed to hang thick in the air like a dense fog and the golden steps remained unblemished by the touch of traitorous boots.

Picard looked upwards, straining to see the golden defenders atop the staircase. Where the armour of the chaos forces below was spartan, theirs were immensely ornate, adorned with all manner of lightning bolts, the symbol of the Emperor. Gold and yet unmarked by the looming threat of violence to come. Weapons at the ready, halberds with underslung bolters, the custodes stood like statues, their only movements betrayed by the minute flutter of the red plumes atop their helmets.

The momentary silence was broken by the thunderclap of great wings, followed by a sickening crunch of metal. At that moment, Picard had felt something. It had not just been him, every crew member of the Enterprise present had had some reaction. Troi, worst of all, who had to be removed, collapsing when whatever it first touched the golden staircase.

Her shrieks pierced his very soul as he had turned in horror. She seemed to be burning from an invisible fire, consumed by smoke pouring from her eyes and mouth. Her body rocked back and forth as the crew around Picard attempted to restrain and carry her to the medical bay.

As she was rushed to the medical bay, her fading screams were replaced by a deafening roar from the creature. Picard was only able to perceive small parts of the great beast, what few segments his very human mind allowed him to understand lest he became lost to the sea of madness that had entrenched itself in the minds of the traitorous forces surrounding him.

The once proud Picard at that moment had been reduced to a blind man trying to see through a cataract, except here the universe itself was the cataract, fighting to keep him from witnessing this future reality in its entirety.

The momentary peace between the two sides was shattered the moment the tremendous roar fell into silence. Heeding the rallying call, Chaos forces surged up the golden staircase and the immaculate golden stairs crumpled under their weight, so ferocious was their charge.

The beast smiled and let the wave of men wash past him, content to watch the ensuing bloodbath. Though they were sorely outnumbered, the Custodes charged down to meet their foes. Golden blurs, their red-plumed helmets became gouges of vivid scarlet streaking like comets through a golden, burning sky, each forging its own trajectory to individual battles.

Halberds twirled ceaselessly, never pausing, even to loose deadly bursts of fire from the underslung ranged weapons. Those who wielded swords were no less deadly, choosing to field an ornate pistol or simple hurtling towards the corrupt forces below with greater vigour than their brethren, for none would fight with their brothers. Their only purpose was to protect the Emperor, all other aspects of their existence were inconsequential. While they would live for the Emperor. Their duty was to fight and die alone in his service.

He forced the images out of his mind and raised himself from the floor. If he could not sleep, Picard was going to set about being useful. Pulling on his duty uniform, he made his way to the medical bay to check on the resident psychic Dianna Troi. He had not been to see her since he had exited the holodeck. In all honesty, Picard was trying to avoid it. something about what had happened when the beast had appeared wasn't...natural. Perhaps it was a play of the holodeck, but when its bronze hooves first hit the ground the temperature had dropped sharply and he could feel a presence within his mind, someone testing the door handle quietly as to not bring his attention.

Opening the door to the medical bay, he let out a slow breath, his heart sinking. Troi lay atop one of the few surviving beds, surrounded by Dr Crusher and several attendees. Crusher looked up, smiling at Captain Picard, "We're not quite sure what it was that set her off, Captain, but her vital signs are normal, as is her brain activity." She placed her hand on his forearm and fixed him with her piercing green eyes, whatever he was about to hear he knew it would be the truth, "there was nothing you could do to anticipate any of this. Right now she's just resting. I don't see any problem with her returning to normal duties in a few hours or so."

She made her way to her office, looking over her shoulder, letting her fiery orange hair slip off her shoulder, "she should be awake soon. When she does, I'll let you know to come back down."

"I prefer to be here when she wakes up, there's something I need to ask her about." With that, Picard took up station by her bedside, picking up a simple stool from the corner of the medical bay and placing it gingerly on the carpeted floor. Though he wasn't an engineer, he questioned having the medical bay needing to be carpeted. He pushed the passing thought and sat, his eyes fixed on the sleeping form of his ship's counsellor and began his silent watch.

Sigismund, too, was restless. Several hours of meditation with the painsticks had not relieved him of this raging thoughts and he had resorted to exploring the ship in detail if it could even be called a ship, for it was more akin to a pleasure craft than a weapon of war.

Approximately 230 meters long, and very narrow, he felt ashamed to set foot on such a pitifully weak vessel. A crew member by the name of Geordie had offered to escort Sigismund through the ship and, begrudgingly, he had accepted the offer. On their journey, Sigismund had asked about the visor he wore. "Well, right now I'm blind," he said as he took off the visor to show Sigismund his sightless eyes, "without this neat thing, I wouldn't be able to do my job."

"Why resign yourself to such a fragile method of restoring your sight?" Sigismund asked, "do you not have access to proper cybernetics?" The silence from his human companion had given him pause, perhaps the society was weaker than he had imagined. "Cybernetic implantation, replace the weak flesh that holds you back from achieving your full potential." Sigmund elaborated, taking from the Iron Hands' creed 'the flesh is weak' as they too sought to emulate their late Primarch, Ferrus.

Geordie had baulked at that. Such invasive procedures weren't even thought of in the Federation unless there was a true need for the operation in the first place. If he had been born with no eyes, then perhaps it would have been considered, but even then, there were other options such as having a carer.

"You truly are a pathetic society." Disdain dripped from every syllable that left Sigismund's lips. "It makes me glad that none of your kind exists in the Imperium."

Geordi wasn't about to get baited into an argument with Sigismund, he had seen what that had done to Picard. He passed him in the hallway earlier that evening as the Captain was making his way towards the medical bay. Ever since he and Sigismund had left holodeck 3, the Captain was...different.

Wanting to change the subject, Geordi decided to ask something that had been on his mind for several minutes as he walked with Sigismund. "What are those?" He asked, gesturing to the ten gold studs on Sigismund's forehead. They were small disks, two rows of five studs just above his right eyebrow that started just before his temple and ended near the centre of his forehead.

"They are my service studs," Sigismund said, his fingers automatically tracing over the ten pieces of cold metal. As he said the words, he felt as if he was once again fighting in the Great Crusade, hounded by remembrancers and their endless series of questions.

"Service to what?" Geordi stuttered as he tried to find the words to go with his question, "do they have to do with time? A campaign?"

"Each service stud represents a period of service to the Imperium." Sigismund explained, "bronze denotes ten years, silver fifty years -"

"What about gold?" Geordi interrupted, his curiosity too great to wait. He and Sigismund had stopped now, both of them blocking the hallway.

"Gold is one-hundred years of service," he stated, his voice rising "I have served for over a thousand years in His name. Now I am stranded in a timeline that disgusts me. It further disgusts me that I must rely on you and your ilk to return me to my rightful place."

Sigismund towered over Geordi, his diamond-cold blue eyes bored into him deeper and sharper than any laser. "Return me to my rightful place." Sigismund seethed as his armoured fingers drilled their way into the wall, his arms blocking Geordi's route of escape. "My duty has not ended and I will not be prevented from returning."

He inclined down and Geordi saw that half of his teeth had been replaced by iron ones. The damage that this man had taken as part of his 'service' would have retired hundreds of Starfleet officers if they shared them out between each other.

"How can you want to go back?" Sigismund ignored the question from the squeak of a man feigning bravery before him. "Can you re-open the warp rift that brought me to this timeline?"

"I..maybe?" Geordi stammered, noticing that they had drawn a small crowd. Several yellow-uniformed security personnel were starting to close a ring around Sigismund "Our Science Officer, Data, is analysing what the scanners managed to pick up. If we isolate a pattern, we might be able to predict when - if another one opens."

Geordi waved the security personnel back with his right hand, they weren't needed, also there probably weren't enough of them. "Right now, though, it's about as good as it's going to get, so you're going to have to be patient. If you're going to the future, it doesn't matter how long you stay here anyway." Ducking out and away from Sigismund's oak like arms, he suppressed a shudder as armoured fingers were wrenched from the wall with a screech, "so, please, stop destr-"

He stopped. He blew out again. His breath frosted. When did it get so cold? He looked around, others were noticing the same thing. The crew were shivering as the temperature dropped further, still. "Geordi to bridge!" he called out into his communicator, "what's going on? Something's not right here on Deck 7"


	7. Chapter 7

Hey boys and girls, we're back with Part 7.

 **Update: 4th March (18:40 UK time) - I've changed some of the text to get rid of some duplicate paragraphs that have made it into the final edit**

Enjoy :)

Picard sat by the medical bed, his eyes slowly growing heavy as fatigue began to catch up with him. Several hours had gone by and there was still no change in Troi's condition, several times, Dr. Crusher had said there was an improvement in her brain patterns, gamma levels rising, indicating slowly she was recovering from her coma, but to Picard, she was unchanged. Trapped in a coma and far from any help that Picard could give her.

He checked the shipboard clock and found it it was time to leave. Squeezing her hand, Picard left Dianna Troi to her own recovery and made his way to the Conference room. Entering the turbo lift that would put him on the correct deck he grew more anxious, which was unsettling. It wasn't like him at all, and that irritated him. 'A Starfleet Captain does not get nervous', he thought to himself.

That being said, no Starfleet Captain _had_ found themselves in his situation. A visitor from the future so terrible, so horrifying it defied all logic and sanity. Even witnessing a glimpse of it had sent the resident psychic into a Coma. The doors opened as he once more was confronted with the evidence that something had happened on that holo-deck.

The temperature _did_ drop when it shouldn't have but more importantly, he had felt something, and that something is what gave him pause.

The fact that Sigismund seemed willing to go back, going so far as to threaten murder on anyone who would delay his return robbed Picard of all words with which to describe his sense of bewilderment.

The temperature had dropped once more several hours later, affecting the entire ship but the moment had quickly passed. Whatever it was, Sigismund had not offered much explanation when asked.

Disregarding everything else, in all honesty, Picard had hoped to delay discussing what they had all witnessed while on Holo-deck 3, but Riker had insisted, borderline demanded that it happen. As Picard neared the correct floor he felt some alien pattern of vibration but dismissed it as routine warp core stress-testing. The elevator doors sliding open with a mechanical thud and whoosh of air proved his assumptions incorrect as the full force of Sigismund's yelling washed over him like a tidal wave.

"Do not presume to govern my actions!" Sigismund roared, the panels on the wall themselves seemed to shake with every word, "Return me to my rightful place!" and he carved yet another set of deep gouges in the conference table as he clenched his armored fingers if only to prevent him tearing the insubordinate crewman apart.

"Yelling is going to get you nowhere," Riker retorted and rubbed his left ear in an attempt to equalize the pressure and relieve the ringing that threatened to deafen him. "I highly suggest you control yourself. That being said, we have a moral obligation to you, Captain. The sanctity of life may not hold any bearing to you, but aboard the Enterprise and within the Federation it does. I'm not even sure we should _let_ you return." The last word was said at a volume just below a whisper, and the speed of a glacier. The tip of Sigismund's sword was a hairsbreadth from his throat.

The sword had appeared so suddenly that the other crewmen in the room had not noticed until it was too late. They stood in a start all the same and made to move against Sigismund, but his diamond blue eyes halted their advances. They knew that they could not hope to intervene, perhaps nobody in the entire Federation could.

As long as Commander Riker was tall, the sword's surface was darker than the cold void outside the ship. Across the length were four words, two per side, each inlaid with gold. _Imperator Rex_. _Dei Castigator_. Riker now eyed the words. 'Divine punishment of the Emperor-King'.

"My oaths have been made," Sigismund growled, his face could have been carved from marble, his blue eyes blazing.

Riker backed away slowly, inching away from the unwavering, pointed blade. As he eyed Sigismund, he could not help but feel sorry for him. He was so singular in purpose, he had nothing outside of war. A man who would never experience the warming embrace of peace.

Picard's voice interrupted the silence that seemed to hang thick in the air. "Sigismund put down your weapon. Need I remind you that you are aboard a _Federation_ starship. While aboard this _Federation_ starship you will abide by _Federation_ rules."

Sigismund sheathed his enormous sword. His eyes met Picard's and gave an order of his own, "return me to my rightful place, my presence here endangers this entire ship. Since my arrival, the veil between worlds has begun to thin."

"Veil between worlds?" Worf asked, his eyebrow raised almost mockingly. The other crewmen including LaForge and Picard had not expected this new direction.

"Then what happened with..." Riker trailed off, unable speak Troi's name, "what caused that?"

"Now that the warp is more easily felt, those untrained, those who are _psykers_ ," Sigismund spat the word out as if it had a foul taste, "and mentally weak are more susceptible to its influence. The temperature drop was a side effect of her psychic feedback from the experience."

He went on, unperturbed by the murmur between LaForge and Worf and unphased by the protestations of William Riker as he began accusing Sigismund of holding back vital information. Rather than listen, Sigmund simply spoke over the irate commander.

What Sigismund left out was that the longer she was alive, the greater the possibility of her demonic possession. If he revealed that fact, the Captain would make for more stable areas of space and that would be unacceptable. Whatever happened to the crew of this ship, Sigismund had decided several days ago, was inconsequential.

The end, his returning to the cataclysmic battle above Cadia, was more than justified by the lives of this crew. Navy men, serfs and Tech Priests aboard any Black Templar vessel knew this, accepted this. Just as it had been for over 800 years with him as High Marshal. The Crusade would never be allowed to slow. This could not be made the exception.

Once more, Captain Picard tried to be diplomatic, as difficult as it would be with someone as immovable as Sigismund.

"Sigismund," the giant turned to him. He was enormous. A mountain of muscle encased in armor. Eyes that had never seen peace in over a millennium. "We will return you home. We currently lack the knowledge with which to do so. You say you came here by way of 'the warp' but that remains an unknown realm to humanity at this point in time."

Sigismund breathed deeply through his nose. It was a long breath, all three lungs filling with air as he fought to control his anger. These men were useless to him. While he felt the warp thinning, being forced to wait for its eventual tear constricted him. It made time his enemy, and that put him on the defensive. His armor snarled in response, its machine spirit molded to the soul of its master, servo engines let loose high pitched whines as they spun up, only to die down again.

Picard could feel he was losing his singular audience and continued with more fleet a pace. "As I've mentioned earlier, we have been analyzing the energy signatures that appear to be building in their intensity around this area of space. Once our computer has deciphered the pattern -"

"You will be able to recreate it." Sigismund finished his sentence, no longer pacing.

"Yes, that is our hope," Picard said, nodding as the Space Marine started towards the door.

The giant exited the door with a slight squeal of metal as his pauldrons touched the doorway, "I will make preparations."

Once William Riker had guessed Sigismund was safely out of earshot, in the elevator and on another deck, he turned to Captain Picard and asked "are we really going to send him back to _that_ place?" he asked, throwing his hand out in exasperation. "Would you fail to return to Starfleet if you found _yourself_ in another time, maybe even another galaxy?" Picard countered.

"You don't understand, Captain. Those are two very different situations," Riker explained, standing up from his chair as if to emphasize the divide between their points of view. They continued to argue, what right did the Enterprise, or anybody for that matter have to hold someone against their will? Many things had been done for the supposed greater good of that individual, Picard said, very few had truly been philanthropic.

"How would we stop him returning home? We would sooner destroy the Enterprise by throwing spears at it than keep Sigismund here." Riker stopped as he considered what LaForge had just pointed out. He doubted very much that Lieutenant Worf or any number of Klingons could hope to bring Sigismund down without killing him, or more likely, bring him down at all. Riker had had a long career with Starfleet and never had he seen any _one_ individual so equipped for combat, so singular in their purpose and design.

"What if we beamed him down to a deserted planet? We would give him enough supplies," he said, "maybe even a replicator." Riker turned around and met the eyes of each of the officers in attendance. "He could live the rest of his days-"

"Alone and vengeful towards we who betrayed him." Worf interrupted, "We know so little about Sigismund, but do you _honestly_ believe that he would actually stay on this fictional planet? If he ever gets off of it, make no mistake, _planets_ will burn."

"Commander Riker, why do you wish to keep Sigismund here?" Worf asked. "He is an honorable warrior whose only wish is to return and fight for his people. I do not like him," he emphasized, "but I will respect his wishes. If only others were as honorable as him on my home world."

For added effect, Worf pressed a button on the console in front of him. "Observe his performance during the so-called 'Siege of Terra'. A warrior such as he would be missed on the battlefield."

Riker didn't want to watch the footage that started to play on the wall-mounted view-screen, neither did many of those present. All watched regardless, Worf being the only one to have knowledge of what the footage contained. Once more madness seemed to invade civilized space.

Sigismund dominated the screen as the computer generated video playback from the data stored on Holo-deck 3.

Clad in the same black power armor, Sigismund vaulted over the rampart and fell to the ground below. He stood facing thousands of traitor legionaries and more of the unknowable creatures that the crew now knew as demons. He raised his sword, chained to his right hand and roared a challenge, daring any to come forward, he would face any challenge. He called them cowards, fools. Sigismund roared that he would smite any who came forward, for oath breakers deserved neither his mercy or that of the Emperor.

The Starfleet officers in attendance murmured quietly to themselves, sharing their disbelief at the images that they saw. Everything that they saw was alien to them. Large scale battles were something that didn't happen anymore, let alone civil wars that would apparently leave trillions dead, a number so enormous that it was almost impossible to imagine, even more so given that this empire still thrived enough to fight an entire galaxy to a standstill.

"You don't understand," Riker said wearily after Sigismund dispatched yet another Chaos Champion, this one in red armor, its left arm bereft of armor, instead wielding an enormous motorized axe chained to its arm like Sigismund. "If we send Sigismund back, he doesn't make any difference and dies anyway."

He looked around making eye contact with those present, trying to make them understand. "I went back to Holo-deck 3 after..." Riker took a deep breath as the memory of Troi's screaming returned to him, "it turns out Q supplied more information than we had originally thought. We could send him back right now if we wanted to."

"This is good news," Worf said, ignoring the first part of the sentence "we have no right to keep him in this timeline and who knows what kind of damage could be done to the future by even keeping him here."

"No, Worf, you don't understand! Whether or not he wants to go isn't what I'm concerned with. Neither is the timeline. His Imperium beats back whatever kind of attack is happening, even if he isn't there." Riker stood up, hands on the table in front of him as if trying to shoulder a great weight, "if we send him, he dies. He _dies!_ Sending him back would be as good as killing him ourselves."

The room fell silent once again as the Starfleet officers each considered this new information. In that moment, Picard thought of what the ships psychic Dianna Troi had told him in his cabin before the rendezvous with Sigismund on Holo-deck 3.

He had asked her opinion on their new unexpected guest. Looking at him, Troi had paused for a long time, trying to choose words that would best describe one so totally alien as Sigismund. Troi had finally looked at Picard "Sigismund is a tortured soul," she said slowly. "It's hard for me _not_ to feel his mind," she tried to explain, "he's very unlike you and I." She paused and frowned as Picard listened, waiting for her to continue.

"If I was a ship at sea and looking for land," she explained, "your mind would be a lighthouse. It's there if I wish to see it, but I must actively look at it to see it's there."

"This is where Sigismund is different. Sigismund's mind is a perpetual explosion in the night sky. Even here," she gestured to Picard's cabin, "several decks away I can feel his _every_ fleeting thought. He isn't a psychic, Captain, don't get me wrong, but his presence is _overwhelming_."

"From his lifetime of war." Picard had said. It had made perfect sense that Sigismund would grow weary after over 1,000 years of near constant battle.

Troi had looked at him then, eyes misting and voice trembling. "No, Captain, that's not what pains him."

Captain Picard was brought back into the present as once again the room descended into a further argument over the moral implication of both keeping Sigismund here against his will to save him, telling him and asking whether or not he wished to go, or sending him without telling him that he would die.

"Enough!" Picard ordered. "There will be no more of this," his arm slicing through the air, solidifying the matter. "I will speak to Sigismund. If he wishes to go, he will go. Otherwise, I would welcome him aboard until we find a suitable place for him to live out his days in peace."

Though Sigismund was in Ten-Forward according to the computer, Picard instead made his way back to Holodeck-3 in search of more answers. He knew so little about Sigismund and his life, to try and talk to him without first understanding him would do neither of them any good.

* * *

Ten-Forward was situated at the extreme end of the Enterprise, several large windows offered spectacular views of the space ahead of the starship. Its main purpose was to serve as the social center of the ship and the room could always be counted on to have dozens of crew members enjoying each other's company over games of chess or syntheholic drinks. Tonight there was no hustle and bustle or cajoling of any kind.

Tonight the room was quiet, and its occupants whispered to each other in hushed tones lest they draw the attention of Sigismund who stood at one of the large windows, glaring out at the empty space ahead.

His glare was so intense that Reginald Barkley thought the stars themselves would dim their light to avoid his attention. At least that's what Barkley would do if he was a star. Sigismund frightened him. He represented war. Fighting. Death. Everything that Barkley was terrified of. Sigismund scared him more than taking the transporter, and that was petrifying.

Sigismund would have towered over the patrons even without his armor on. Wearing it now, he was a certified giant amongst mortals. His bolter was mag-locked to his thigh and his sword hung in its sheath next to his storm shield. Sigismund didn't expect or fear any attack, especially from those on the Enterprise, but having them close gave him a sense of calm that wasn't there without them.

Several of the crew had been brave enough to approach him and offered company at their table. Each time he had ignored them, too absorbed in his silent sentinel over the stars and what lay just behind their light. The material realm was thinning further, soon he would have an opportunity to return home.

Thinking of what his Chapter and Imperial Navy faced over Cadia, he heard the crunch of ceramite as his armored fingers clenched into fists. They had done so of their own accord as the rage within him bubbled up to the surface. Like magma, it sent out screaming swathes of hot, bitter fury. It radiated from his armor, intensified by the twin, thunderous beating of his hearts.

It came naturally, with the ease of drawing breath it was there. Its miasma engulfed his very being. A bestial thing, it strained against the shackles that held it in check, yearning to be unleashed on the enemies of the Imperium and those who assaulted the honor of the Chapter.

Once more, Sigismund forced it down, wrestling the monster that rampaged within his mind even as he thirsted to release it upon those deserving of vengeance. _Soon_ , he thought as he saw a distant star begin to fade, engulfed by dark energies of the emerging immaterium. His gauntleted fist closed around the pommel of his sword. _Soon._

* * *

Picard stepped onto Holodeck-3. "Computer," he announced before pausing. _What could possibly pain Sigismund?_ He thought. Troi hadn't been specific when she had talked with him, only that Sigismund's father had left a scar that had never healed.

"Location." The computer chimed.

Picard thought a moment and then smiled. "English countryside, summer time."

Picard found himself amongst rolling plains of green grass. Woodland to his right blossomed with the sound of birds chirping and rustling of newly formed leaves as a warming breeze passed through. Picard drew in the scent of flowers, resting his hand on the old wooden fence nearby.

Captain Picard groaned in irritation, "how am I supposed to find out what that means?" Picard asked, "Scar that never healed, how profoundly unhelpful."

A flash of light interrupted the countryside scenery, followed by the overly cheerful laugh of Q. "Oh, my wonderful friend, my _good_ friend Picard!" he quipped, flashing a bright white smile. "When will you ever learn to ask for help?"

Picard had patience left for games with Q, his patience already worn extremely thin by Sigismund's inability to be reasonable. "What?" Picard snapped. "What do you want _now_ , Q? I really have no time for this."

Q seemed genuinely hurt, though Picard knew this wasn't the case. "Oh _Picard_!" Q exclaimed, wilting. "How you hurt me so!" Clutching at his chest, he leant heavily against a nearby tree and its shadow cast his face in a menacing light. "Why don't you ask the computer to show you the time his father refused to kill him?"

Q's eyes grew wide, meeting those of Picard and started to laugh. "Picard, you are so _sensitive!_ How I enjoy our little talks." Once again, Q flashed a smile, "anyway, I must be off. Don't want you getting too _bored_ of me," placing a hand on Picard's shoulder, "that would be just _dreadful._ "

A flash of light was the last thing Picard saw of Q as he disappeared to plague someone else, somewhere else with his presence. Captain Picard looked to the heavens in frustration. Why did Q have to meddle in his life? Why not someone else's? If he believed in such things as Gods, Picard would have asked them for strength.

In the distance, he heard a voice. It was so quiet, he questioned whether or not he had even heard it. _Ask and it is yours_ , Picard shook his head and put it out of his mind. After all of this was over, he would take some much-needed shore leave.

"Computer," Picard asked quietly, still cursing Q's existence, already forgetting the voice, "show me the event where Sigismund's father refused to kill him." As Holodeck-3 adjusted the simulation, Picard could do nothing but shake his head. What madness was he about to witness? Perhaps now, if Q _was_ being helpful, he would begin to understand a little more of the Enterprise's newest guest.


	8. Chapter 8

Onboard the Enterprise two lost men stared. Neither of them moved, each unmoving as mountains. One was Captain Picard, a man accustomed to exploring the unknown, each adventure leaving him energized and prepared to once more venture into the dark unknown.

The other was Sigismund. The greatest hero of his time. The first Captain of the Imperial Fists Legion. Named Emperor's Chamption, and now High Marshal of the Black Templars. He still stood triumphant. Over 1,000 years he had waged constant war. Never defeated. He feared _nothing._

He stood at the forefront of Ten-Forward, palm resting on the pommel of his sword staring out into the void through the large window. "They're strong, you know," came a female voice from behind, "stronger than you give them any credit for."

Sigismund snorted, even as a joke it would not be funny. "I doubt that. None here have the stomach for hardship." He turned and found himself looking at a woman in a purple dress. She appeared young but Sigismund saw past that, there was something decidedly _old_ about this newcomer.

"My name is Guinan," she said. "I'm not a member of the ships crew exactly, but then you weren't interested if I was."

She was right. Sigismund cared not for her position nor her unrequested company. "I listen," she said, "but you didn't come here to talk. You came here in search of answers and I can tell you where to find them." Guinan smiled, gesturing for Sigismund to join her at an empty table.

"And what answers do you believe I came here to find?" Sigismund asked. His irritation was apparent. Each word he spoke dripped with an icy tone.

Guinan sat while Sigismund remained standing. Probably because he was worried about breaking the chair, she thought. "You came here to see whether or not we're worth saving." She stated simply. "You haven't yet seen-"

"They won't survive. Their... _breed_ will never amount to anything." Sigismund turned his back, returning to the large windows overlooking the infinite expanse ahead of the Enterprise. "They will murder the future with their lack of courage. When the time comes to fight, at the moment it truly matters they will poison the ranks of those more honorable and deserving."

Guinan was taken aback by the sound of servos as she brought a data-slate from her robes. Sigismund's grip on his sword pommel had turned savage as he'd spoken to her. There was something there, she thought but decided to leave that question for later.

"Perhaps they haven't been given a chance to impress you yet." She said, standing next to Sigismund, sharing in the view. "Here," her delicate hand held out the data-slate, "perhaps this might give you some perspective."

Passing from delicate fingers to armored gauntlets, Sigismund began to scan through the information presented. First, a short history of an interstellar war between humanity and an alien empire ruled by a race called Romulans.

Sigismund snorted, _this war lasted 4 years and ended in a truce._ He thought, _establishment of a neutral zone rather than smashing the retreating Empire to pieces. Pathetic._ The second item Sigismund found more interesting. It detailed a "no-win" scenario.

A stranded civilian freighter in restricted space sending out a distress signal would need rescuing. When the trainee's ship advanced to save it, three K't'inga-class battle-cruisers would de-cloak and engage the trainee.

The basic premise, Sigismund summarized was to assess discipline, command capabilities and character under the intense pressure of their final moments before death. A novel method, Sigismund mused. He turned to Guinan, "take me to the nearest holodeck. I wish to see the Kobayashi Maru test in person."

Guinan smiled and gestured for him to follow, pinging her communicator as she walked, the loud thuds of Sigismunds boots behind her would have normally obscured much of what she said, but Sigismund with his enhanced senses heard every word. Commander Riker would be joining them on Holodeck-7 to watch and also demonstrate a Kobayashi test for Sigismund's benefit.

* * *

On Holodeck-3, Captain Picard was taken aback by Sigismund's presence. So large and powerful, it seemed to have it's own atmosphere. It hung heavy in the air leaving Picard with constant sense of both unease and awe. To be confronted with a _Primarch_ , even in a holodeck simulation was an entirely different experience.

The trio stood outside. Two were father and sonm with Picard the invisible intruder. The moon rose in the distant night sky, its red stained image settled into the background as Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists and Sigismund's gene-father walked slowly along the walls of the Imperial Palace.

The Primarch was enormous, almost twice higher than Sigismund. Dorn wore armor resplendent in gold, more ornate than that of an ancient sarcophagus. Aquila's were embossed across the chest and limbs while a delicate pair of copper metal wings haloed the giant's head.

Hair the color of bone, his face was lean and unwrinkled. A cloak of heavy red velvet adorned his shoulders. Picard paused the simulation. Though the wall they walked on was easily wide enough to accommodate a parade, he wanted a moment to look at the two without having to awkwardly walk backwards. He also needed a moment to catch his breath and grow used to the Primarch of the Imperial Fists. An unbreakable bulwark against which any foe would surely fall, to look at him was to know that there was nothing that escaped his punishing gaze.

Though neither of the projected beings were aware of Picard's existence, their effect on him was undeniable. Like a puppy its first night away from its mother Picard was equally scared and excited by the presence of the demigod that stood before him. It took all of Picard's willpower not to bow before the giant, it was almost instinctual in its urgency.

Picard had already seen some of what lay in store for these two, the Siege of Terra, but he breathed the words anyway, "what war needs beings such as you?" Picard wondered as he looked up at Dorn, who in turn was frozen in time looking at his son, Sigismund.

Picard had always loved his father. Regardless of the friction that invariably came between them, there was love. Even when Picard abandoned a life on the family farm for a career in StarFleet, there had been love between them.

Sigismund, too, loved Dorn. It was more evident than anything Picard had witnessed in not only his StarFleet career, but his entire life. Dorn too, loved his son. Picard saw the trust there. The deference not given lightly to _anyone_ and this was not lost on Sigismund, it was clear as day the honor that he felt to be regarded in such esteem.

Should Sigismund's father have asked, he would have surely plunged into the very gates of hell. Remembering the Siege of Terra simulation from earlier, perhaps he wasn't being imaginative enough with his choice of words. He blew air out of his nose in subtle amusement, he was jealous of Sigismund and his relationship with Dorn, wishing the same was there with his own father.

Sigismund looked up at Dorn. "I must speak with you about why I requested to return. Why I did not accept command of the Retribution Fleet." Sigismunds voice was quiet, even against the silence of the deserted rampart.

Picard didn't know whether or not he should be intrigued or fearful. Intrigued to know what would transpire to leave Sigismund an eternal scar, or fearful of what would turn _Sigismund_ away from a battle or what a 'Retribution Fleet' was.

His indecision between the two was replaced with a definitive sense of unease when he noticed Dorn's change of demeanor. Though this was merely a recreation of the past and Picard was invisible to those before him, it was impossible not to feel his electrifying presence, or the need to escape his glare.

He had become still. His gaze fixed on his son, as if his entire being focused on Sigismund. A breeze picked up. Picard could smell burning metal, with the smell came noise, faint whispers of immense machinery somewhere in the distance. The entire _planet_ seemed to be preparing for the war to come.

"It was on the Phalanx," Sigismund continued, "I was walking the habitation decks. I'm not sure why, I had no duties. Idleness...did not sit well with me. I was restless."

"You were doubtful?" Dorn's voice was as unreadable as his face. It simply 'was'. Picard realized that it was the face that Sigismund often wore on the Enterprise. Sigismund spoke once more, "I knew my mission and I was prepared to carry it out. I..." Sigismund seemed unsure under the gaze of his Father. "I was searching for purpose."

Dorn's head lowered a fraction, but the effect was impossible to ignore. His eyes seemed to darken and shadows deepened across his face. "Speak clearly, _Captain._ "

"War will come to Terra," Sigismund finally said. "They will be many, Father, and we will be few. The heavens themselves will fade from the sky as ships form an iron curtain over us."

Sigismund found his voice, speaking louder and with more confidence. Despite knowing better, Picard hoped that Dorn would see sense in his son's argument.

Dorn spoke now, unmoved by the truth that Sigismund spoke, "it matters not what our numbers are. Let them come."

Sigismund explained to his father that a woman had come to speak to him. She had appeared from nowhere, unheard by his superhuman senses. Before Sigismund had been able to order her return to quarters, she had confronted him.

There was a choice to be made, the Keeler woman had said. The choice between two paths, commanding the Retribution Fleet or remaining at Dorn's side, either choice would alter the future of both Sigismund and that of the Legion.

To command the Fleet, she said, would result in his death, alone and forgotten beneath the light of a distant star. Remaining with Dorn would ensure he be where he was needed most when everything would come down to a single battle. Perhaps the greatest battle ever fought, where everything would count.

There was never a more loyal son, even Picard could see the devotion in Sigismund's eyes to the veritable _God_ that stood before him, red cloak swaying in the dust scented wind.

"It is why I returned to Terra with you. When I said I was needed at your side, I spoke the truth." Picard saw that Dorn still had not looked at Sigismund since he had started his tale of Keeler, he stared straight ahead as Sigismund stood next to him looking up. "When Horus comes, it will be a battle to decide the very fate of the Imperium. It will decide the _existence_ of humanity. I will stand with you and the Legion, I swear it, and we will defeat them."

Dorn was a statue. Picard had edged closer as Sigismund had spoken, he was almost next to both of them now, the three forming a loose triangle. Looking up he saw Dorn's eyes and their now icy glimmer, the coldness forming behind the blue eyes shared by his son.

It scared him. Picard wanted nothing more than to back away, wishing he had the opportunity to reverse time for the soldier that fell under the unrelenting, piercing glare.

The words came now, though they were less than a whisper, they brought with them the force of a tidal wave. "You are a traitor." Picard and Sigismund both staggered. Picard was frozen in shock. The words of Dorn sliced deeper into Sigismund than any blade could.

Sigismund took a few staggered steps backwards as he tried to regain his composure under his fathers' verbal assault. "We are made to serve. We carry out the will of the Emperor of Mankind. That is our sole purpose." His voice echoed, bouncing off nearby statues and towering defensive emplacements as he took several steps toward his son. With each pounding impact of his boots Dorn's presence grew larger until he seemed to fill every corner of Picard's vision.

The Primarch was so overcome with rage that he shook, his fists clenched hard enough to crunch the ceramite of his own gloves. His own power armors servos screamed in mechanical agitation, mirroring their master's ire and adding to the cacophony. "Every Primarch," Dorn roared as he towered over Sigismund, "every marine exists to _serve_ the Emperor. The first and _only_ ruler of Mankind!"

Picard was on his knees, scrambling away from Dorn. Every instinct squealed in fear at Picard to stop the simulation, he had seen all he needed to. There was no point in continuing.

"Our existence has no other meaning!" Dorn continued. The stone floor vibrated from the force of his voice and distant windows rattled. "Our choices are not our own. Our fate is not ours to choose!"

He pointed an armored finger accusingly at Sigismund, "your only duty is to fight, and only in death does duty end! _That_ is your sole purpose. Your will belongs to _me_ ," he palm slammed into his cuirass, "Does that not ring true to your ears? Do you not remember your oath?"

Sigismund spoke now, his voice raw, broken and unfamiliar to Picard as it was to its owner. "I have and always will stand by you and the Legion, Father." He looked up, finally managing to look his father and Primarch in the eyes. "I will stand against the enemies of the Imperium until I fall in service to the Emperor."

"You murder the future, you kill it with your _weakness_. You believed that destiny sought to guide you. That you could see the path ahead clearer than I, than the Emperor himself." Sigismund's eyes froze wide in shock. Dorn nodded in response, "those are the thoughts of a traitor. An _oath-breaker._ The thoughts that now drive Horus and the others against us."

Picard continued to watch, kneeling from a distance. He could not stand, the air hung too thick with tension. He couldn't breathe, his heart was beating too hard in his chest. Sigismund looked as though he was moments away from collapsing completely as his entire world crumbled around him. Even still, he tried to convince his father that he was right to remain at his side. Try as he might, Dorn's beliefs were as immovable as mountains. The impossible had happened. Sigismund had failed in his duty.

He began to kneel. "You will not kneel before me!" Dorn exploded, "you will stand!"

Sigismund slowly drew his sword.

 _This is it._ Picard thought. _This is the moment._

"My life is yours, my lord." Offering the hilt to his master, Sigismund bowed, exposing his neck from behind his armored gorget. "Take it, and remove the stain of my failure."

The Primarch wrapped his hand around the handle for a moment before discarding it like a piece of unwanted garbage. The sword clattered to the ground, the impact echoing across the stone that surrounded them.

"No," Dorn said, his voice dripping with venom. "The Imperium will endure. You have made your choice, _coward_. None will know of this evening. This will be your own to bear alone. I will not allow your cowardice to poison the ranks of the Fists."

Picard saw Sigismund swallow. The eyes, once so fiercely blue had turned the dull color of grey as life seemed to seep from his body. "As you will, father." He bowed, crossing both hands across his chest in the Mark of the Aquila.

Glass in distant window frames shattered and Picard clasped his hands to his ears in pain, sprawling on the floor. "You are not my son!" Dorn bellowed. Sigismund's strength, already so close to failing him, finally gave out and he collapsed. Stone cracked under the impact.

The sound of Sigismund's howl reverberated across the stony landscape. The Palace defenses were unmoved, as ignorant as Dorn to the flaying of the soul before them.

"You are not my son," He repeated, this time quietly. Dorn turned, walking away. "No matter what your future holds," he turned looking at the prone Sigismund struggling to breathe, ignoring the tears that streamed from his 1st Captain's eyes, "you never will be."

After Dorn had disappeared, Picard sat watching Sigismund. He didn't know how much time had passed. Hours? Minutes? He did not know. Finally, Sigismund rose to his feet, retrieving his sword from where Dorn had discarded it. Taking it in his gauntleted hands, he raised the flat of the blade to his forehead, whispering an oath.

Whatever words he spoke, Picard could not hear, and he dared not intrude on the holographic rendition of Sigismund to know them.

Sigismund looked to the sky and spoke."I will not fail again...my Primarch."

* * *

"The test is impossible! That's its purpose! It's how it was designed!" Commander Riker shouted. Sigismund stood impassively as he always did, his diamond blue eyes blazing in the artificial light of the holodeck. "It is not," he stated, "there is a solution, you simply lack the zeal to carry it out."

 _This is all that was needed to be a StarFleet officer?_ Sigismund almost rolled his eyes. It was pitiful. "We've been here for over an hour now, Sigismund. You keep telling me there's a solution, but I have yet to see it." Riker said, "perhaps you would like to enlighten me," gesturing for Sigismund to step forward.

"Very well," stepping forward, Sigismund rolled his shoulders, and stepped forward.

Sigismund was difficult to read, he gave no emotion or intention away. His eyes always blazed with an intense, impatient energy that was always a few moments away from being unleashed, and growing agitated that it hadn't happened yet. Now Sigismund had opened the gates, once more going into battle, he took his place on the simulated bridge of the Enterprise. Choosing to remain upright, he mag-locked himself to the deck by his boots.

"Captain, I'm getting something on the distress channel," Sigismund heard a crew member call out.

"Main display." He ordered, otherwise sparing her no attention, instead he was listening to the distress call of the stranded ship within the neutral zone as it gave its coordinates, Gamma Hydra Section 10.

"Life systems are failing!" The distress call sounded through the speakers, "Starship Enterpri-"

"Cease communication," Sigismund ordered the Maru, "we will retrieve your crew when able. Your situation will not accelerate our schedule." Despite the orders being given at a normal volume, their impact was enormous.

"Further, do not seek to give me orders or I will allow your vessel to drift and recover the wreckage instead of its contents."

Further communication stopped short after that as the Enterprise crew complied with his short, quick orders and made preparation for an intercept course.

Off to the side, Commander Riker and Guinan watched. Riker saw already that at least as a commander, Sigismund was effective but harsh, if that were even an appropriate word to use. He was right, the Kobayashi's communications were needless beyond location data since their warp core wasn't compromised. Riker questioned the need to threaten those stranded, though. Fear wasn't an offense to be executed for.

The Enterprise neared the stranded vessel, closing the distance between it and the eventual confrontation. When it finally happened, Sigismund sprang into action.

The three Klingon warbirds uncloaked next to each other, forming a row of steel. Their weapons armed, all three ships advanced as one towards the Enterprise.

Shaped like a bird of prey, their bridge module was located on a bulbous forward section, separated from the rest of the ship by a long, relatively thin connective structure. _An obvious weakness, yet ignored by Riker, the incompetent fool_ , thought Sigismund in disgust.

"Emergency saucer separation, ahead full on _all_ thrusters." The Black Templar ordered, his voice easily carrying over the din of battle-station sirens. The Enterprise shuddered and the groan of metal pierced at eardrums as the hull was subjected to stress it was _not_ designed for. Sigismund ignored it, his voice thundered over the sound as he continued to give orders to the crew.

"Focus all fire on the connective neck of the closest warbird. Saucer section, attack from above. Main body, dive between its neighbor." In several moments Sigismund had effectively removed two warbirds from the fight. The first when its bridge was blasted away from its body, neck severed. The second, for fear of hitting the first, could not fire at the separated main body that sat sandwiched between the two, while the third could only fire on the saucer section that sat high on the z axis of attack. On Sigismund's order, the separated body of the enterprise fired its bow thrusters, ramming into the passive middle warbird in a bid to crush it's port weapons systems.

The maneuver was a success and while the third attempted to move into position, Sigismund pushed both halves of the Enterprise to their limit, pummeling the second from its now defenseless port side.

It was not a clean victory, the saucer section that Sigismund personally commanded was badly mauled by its exposure to all three Klingon vessels in the opening engagement. Unless he could destroy the second warbird quickly, the third undamaged Klingon vessel would enter the fray and finish both halves with little effort.

"Assemble a boarding party. Transport them into the engineering section of the second warbird once their shields go down. They are to do as much damage as possible. Destroy it from the inside."

He now turned to his pilot. "Saucer section, ramming speed. Decapitate the final bird."

Speechless, Riker didn't know what to make of what had happened. The Kobayashi Maru had been completed. At the very least, technically completed. Both sections of the Enterprise were horrifically damaged. The saucer was leaking atmosphere and several decks near its nose were tombs, filled with the bodies of the dead, the atmosphere evacuated from the impact with the last warbird.

The main body fared no better. It's left engine lancel had been destroyed and many of the crew were injured from its ramming ordeal with the second warbird. Many more were dead, those sent by transporter to destabilize the warp core and life support systems on the enemy ship.

If that was not enough, as punishment, Sigismund had also executed the Captain of the Kobayashi Maru for carelessness that resulted in their being stranded in the first place.

Riker terminated the simulation but before he could confront Sigismund on both a job well done and condemn his battle tactics, Sigismund spoke first. "Zeal makes all things possible, duty makes all things simple." His eyes bored into Riker as he took a step closer. "Remember that, Commander...and you will never fail again."

* * *

Picard was there when Sigismund died at the hands of Rogal Dorn. He watched as his soul shattered in the wake of being rebuked, disowned by his gene-sire, his Primarch.

He watched as Sigismund stood, picking up the pieces of his soul and reforging them in adamantium. The result was a warrior that knew only duty and sought redemption in the eyes of that whom he failed.

 _You are not my son._

During the Siege, he searched for the strongest Champions of Chaos, never resting, accepting any challenge, no matter the odds or what hardship it brought him. Every time Sigismund emerged victorious. Picard saw it all.

After the Siege of Terra, Sigismund was given his own Chapter to command by Dorn who appointed him High Marshal. Those around Sigismund saw it as a great honor. Sigismund felt nothing but shame. Exiled by his own father and cleaved from his Legion, his accomplishments in the name of the Emperor during the cataclysmic battle of Terra were ignored by the one whose favor Sigismund sought so fiercely now.

 _You are not my son._

At the time of the Second Founding when the Primarchs were so divided over the need to break up the legions, Sigismund took it on himself to demonstrate a supreme show of faith in those dark times. Raising his black sword to the sky, he declared "the Black Templar's will never rest in their persecution of the enemies of Mankind," to the men assembled before him on Terra.

Several Primarchs observed from high balconies, nodding in approval. Sigismund looked to the ranks of assembled Black Templars, their armor freshly painted the black and white of Sigismund's personal heraldry. His Chapter honored his courage, skill, and unflinching loyalty to the Emperor.

"On this day I swear, until the Emperor Himself so orders, the Templars will never rest in the persecution of his enemies. The galaxy belongs to the Emperor, and we will see it brought under His undying light."

Sigismund looked up to the sky, seeking the eyes of Dorn on the highest balcony. "Until the last star disappears from the sky. Until the world ceases to move, I will serve the Imperium and it's rightful Master. As we leave Terra, so will begin our Eternal Crusade, in His name."

Their eyes met. Dorn's whose eyes stared impassively. Unmoved by mighty Oath made by his once favored son.

 _You are not my son, and no matter what your future holds, you never will be._

"End simulation." Picard sighed, all of his energy spent, he felt drained from the time he had spent on the holodeck watching a select few moments of Sigismund's life. Even to a casual observer, it was exhausting. The stresses that Sigismund had experienced in his long, long life was astounding. To even begin to imagine the physical aspect was impossible.

One thing was certain. "We can't keep him here," he said to himself. "If we keep him here, he will die." Picard shook his head, "being saved would kill him."

* * *

On the Enterprise bridge, Commander Data sat in the Captain's chair. Whether or not he sat comfortably was impossible to say since he was an android. He merely sat, and observed the bridge crew going about their duties.

In several hours he would be relieved by Commander Riker, after which Data would go and feed his cat, Spot. His watch had been an uneventful one, with routine warp core maintenance testing running no less than 15 seconds ahead of schedule. Data made a note into the official log, updating the estimated completion of said maintenance.

Alarms suddenly began to blare as a ship dropped out of warp behind the Enterprise. "Unidentified vessel, this is Lieutenant Commander Data of the Enterprise, what is your intention?" He spoke in the same level voice as he always did. Data did not have emotions.

"No response, Sir," a crewman called out. "Orders?"


	9. Chapter 9

Hi everyone, it's been a while since Chapter 8.

Now, let's get to part 9. It's short. Enjoy the rest of the week, and I'll aim to have a longer part 10 out in the next week or so.

* * *

On the Enterprise bridge, Commander Data sat in the Captain's chair. Whether or not he sat comfortably was impossible to say since he was an android. He sat, and observed the bridge crew as they went about their duties.

In several hours he would be relieved by Commander Riker. Data would have been excited if he had been capable of the feeling. Upon his relief, he would go and feed his cat, Spot, and return to his newest hobby. Dr Crusher had begun teaching an abstract painting class, and he looked forward to continuing his interpretation of the discipline.

His watch had been an uneventful one with routine warp core maintenance testing running no less than 15 seconds ahead of schedule. Data made a note into the official log, complimenting LaForge and his team of engineers on the lower decks on their efficiency.

Alarms suddenly began to blare as a ship dropped out of warp behind the Enterprise. Following standard procedures, the crew began hailing the unknown ship. "Unidentified vessel, this is Lieutenant Commander Data of the Federation Starship Enterprise, what is your intention?"

Data paused momentarily before turning to his left, looking a crewman in the eyes a question forming on Data's synthetic lips. Before he could begin his query, it was answered.

"No response, Sir," the crew member called out, his fingers played across the flashing control panel in front of him with the urgency of a stampede, "Orders?" he asked, all the while trying different hailing protocols.

"Send for the Captain and Commander Riker at once," Data responded, turning to Worf, "raise the shields" he added.

* * *

On the holodeck, Picard ordered the cessation of the accursed simulation, returning himself to the idyllic English countryside that was his favorite. The fresh air was comforting.

He rested his hand against a wooden fence post. The rough grain against his skin grounded him, for his head still spun at what he had witnessed a mere minutes before. Sigismund. One of the greatest warriors that would ever live, ground down to less than nothing before rebuilding himself into the flawed monster that he was.

"Not a monster." Someone whispered in his ear.

Picard turned with a start. He thought he had been alone and he hadn't heard the holodeck doors open. "Q!" His cry carried across the meadow. Nobody was there, and he hadn't thought the words. "Enough of this, I have no patience for your games, especially not now!"

"Oh my," the sly tone sent a wave of disgust through Picard's body. "Picard, that _wasn't_ me!" Jean Luc rolled his eyes, "believe me, Picard, it wasn't..." his eyes glittered a moment with the excitement of a secret not shared. Q clasped his hands together, a broad smile on his face, "Picard, I've had a marvelous idea."

"Q." Picard's tone was terse. Looking down, he found his hands balled up in fists.

"Oh Picard, you wound me!" Q seemed to wilt before recovering with his usual energy. "You've seen the holodeck Sigismund," Q's mischievous smile turning into an ugly grin, "let's see the _real_ Sigismund."

"You see, Picard, a ship has just appeared behind your beloved Enterprise, but Picard, sweet Picard...soon you'll be nowhere to be found!" His eyes wide in mock horror. "Why, Picard, you've been kidnapped! My goodness!." With that Q let out a chuckle as Picard's eyes grew wide in horror at the realisation.

"Whatever will you do Picard? What will you do when Sigismund discovers you've been taken by ... what's the phrase he and his Chapter _so love_ to use? Ah, yes..." his fingers knit together, his voice rising a few octaves. Oh, how he enjoyed it when Picard was flustered.

The familiar glow of transporter targeting enveloped Picard, following him as he reached out for the cloth of Q's robes. Q reached out and clasped the outstretched hands of his companion and leant close, his face inches away from Picard's. "Beware, Picard, for _foul Xenos_ are near...enjoyyyy!"

* * *

"Zeal makes all things possible, duty makes all things simple." Sigismund's eyes pierced into Riker. With every word, Sigismund seemed to grow larger in front of him. "Remember that Commander...and you will never fail those whom you serve."

Riker's mouth opened and closed, mumbling he tried to speak while his mind raced to find some report or comment to the insanity that was Sigismund's successful Kobayashi Maru test.

Three Klingon War Birds destroyed. Over 50 members of the crew dead, and the Captain of the Maru executed for his carelessness. He didn't know where to begin, or how to respond.

"Commander Riker, this is Lieutenant Commander Data." Riker breathed a small sigh of relief, he would have to thank Data later for saving him. "This is Riker, what's up, Data?"

Sigismund stood impassively, his superior Astartes biology allowing him to listen to every word. His hearts thundered in his chest, their beats growing more pronounced. More agitated.

Riker listened intently to Data as the succinct report was delivered. An unknown ship had appeared, stealing away the Captain before shields could be raised. Riker had barely had time to say he was on his way to the bridge before Sigismund was marching not waiting as he left Riker behind, leading the way at the equivalent of a light jog.

Riker tried to keep up while still looking dignified, not wanting to hurry after someone he didn't report to. Sigismund did not immediately move for the bridge, but Riker followed him anyway, not wanting Sigismund unsupervised, unsure of what he was capable of in the state he was in. Sigismund's teeth were clenched, his three lungs took in deep, almost roaring breaths, they were the billows that fueled the rising hatred in his heart. In his soul.

The doors to his visitors chamber whooshed open. Sigismund entered. The luminaries gave of a faint glow, just enough to highlight the stark black and white of his power armor. Riker hovered in the doorway, not daring to enter the gloom.

Sigismund retrieved something from a chest, lowering it above his head. Riker heard the thunk and click of ceramite locking into place, dozens of mechanical hooks turning, solidifying their hold on the gorget, then a quiet-low thrum of a power field as the Iron Halo was activated. Riker heard a drawer open, and the clink-clink of what sounded like chains.

Before he could utter a word, Sigismund was walking towards him, the faint thud of his boots against the carpet blended with the swinging of chains that Sigismund grasped in his hand. Riker caught glimpses of faded gold lettering on each of the links of the thick, black chains.

What were they? He wondered. Planets conquered? Famous foes that Sigismund had slain? There were so many of them. Riker could guess, but he was certainly not about to ask.

Sigismund's face was hidden behind the gorget. His fiercely blue eyes glared out, just above its rim. His silver cropped hair was framed by gold laurels, attached to the iron collar itself. He did not even deign to look at Riker as he barked orders. "Raise the shields of this pleasure barge", Sigismund ordered Riker.

They had almost reached the turbo-lift that would take them towards the bridge. Crew members that saw the duo coming flattened themselves against the walls to get out of the Astartes' way. They entered any adjacent room available, or turned down perpendicular corridors. Sigismund noticed. He didn't care. All he saw confirmed what he already knew about the crew.

"Prepare boarding parties for teleportation as soon as the enemy shields have been eliminated."

As they entered the turbo-lift, Sigismund began to wrap the thick chain across his right forearm. The doors closed, and Sigismund began to pray.

"O hallowed Emperor, lead us from death to victory. From falsehood to truth. Death, war, and blood. I will cover their fields with the pale form of the blasphemous dead and lay waste to their lives with hurricanes of fire."

All the while, Sigismund continued wrapping the chains along his forearm. Pulling the links tighter with each wraparound. Each link was inscribed with the name of a crusade Sigismund had led. The brightest inscriptions were the most recent. This was true for all, except one. The final link that would attach to his sword was gold. On it, inscribed with black ink, forged directly into the link was one word, "Eternal."

The sword at Sigismund's side was as tall as Riker. Its blade was black. Like his armor. Blacker than the space that surrounded the Enterprise. Its blade sang with the slightest movement, sharp, and strong enough to cleave through metal and stone with ease and without marring its perfect hone. Riker couldn't concentrate. His eyes darted from the praying Sigismund to his sword and its inscription. "Divine punishment of the Emperor-King."

The final wrap of the chain had been completed, and Sigismund fastened the final gold link to his sword. "As these chains are bonded to my sword, so shall my soul be to this oath. Though I am torn from your side, flung through the very fabrics of time and space, I shall return to bring your divine punishment to those who have rejected your light..."

The doors of the elevator opened to the Enterprise Bridge, and the High Marshall of the Black Templars stepped out, followed closely by a pale Commander Riker, "...Praise be."


End file.
